


Knights Errant

by MinWeber



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-16
Updated: 2019-07-30
Packaged: 2020-06-29 18:34:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 29,746
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19836124
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MinWeber/pseuds/MinWeber
Summary: I wanted to try my hand at writing a Star Wars adventure story in the spirit of the old Rogue Squadron books - and so I did.I realize that this is probably not what most people are here for, but hey - if there is even one hopeless nerd like me out there, dying for some Star Wars naval action and political intrigue - then this one's for you, buddy, hope you enjoy it.





	1. Meddler's Merit

The day wasn’t starting well for old Farouk, not in the slightest. Something glitched again in the daycycle algorithm, causing the fabled “natural lighting system” to fail completely and prompting him to oversleep. The next logical step was, obviously, for caf dispenser to break again in control level’s kitchen, so he had to go get his at the administrative. There he inevitably ran into Atto from accounting, who went on to bombard him with complaints about the strain that placement of new sensor array was putting on the budget. And yet, being ever the optimist, Farouk still hadn’t written the day off as ruined as he made his way into his office.

Which, sadly, he didn’t reach.

He wasn’t a vain man – in fact most of his friends and partners would actually describe him as rather humble and restrained person – but he saw nothing wrong with taking a pride in a job well done – and the Okami Trade Center, was certainly nothing to be ashamed of. In the busy space of the Core Systems such a station would seem unremarkable, yes, but here in the Outer Rim territories it soared proudly – massive, well-maintained, well-supplied and quite adequately protected. So Farouk considered it a perfectly healthy decision to put his office at the best vantage point overlooking the station – right above the control deck. And being so close to the station’s “brain” helped to add a bit of a personal touch to his management style too.

The necessity to pass through it to get to the office was only a drawback on the days like this.

That particular day – maybe even more so.

\- Director! – the cry reached him when he was almost through the deck, - Director, I think you should see this.

Vir, one of the junior technicians, was frantically waving from behind his console. Farouk grunted – the young man’s enthusiasm was known to everyone on the staff, mostly for how peculiarly it balanced between endearing and annoying.

\- What is it? – he asked, while approaching the console, - Because if it is about bay seventeen’s MCF again, I told them three hundred times already…

\- No, sir. We’ve got… a situation, it seems.

\- No need to dance around it. What happened?

\- A ship just came into system, but it doesn’t respond to any communications and appears to be severely damaged.

That got Farouk’s attention - and a quick glance through the data feed solidified the effect. The ship that dropped out of hyperspace less than a minute ago was a sizeable bulk cruiser – not a smuggler or small-time trader who made up most of his clientele. It hung, giving off a strong hyperdrive emission, not too far away from the station – way past the point of safe entry into the system - and appeared genuinely battered.

\- Well, that doesn’t look good. You checked for lifeforms on board?

\- Nothing, sir. Er, can’t say, I mean. Emission makes life scans inconclusive – it is unusually strong, probably due to some kind of damage to hyperdrive.

Farouk scratched his head. His was a long life lived outrunning civilization on the fringes of Outer Rim and he definitely saw it before: a chewed up hulk of a ship pulled out of hyperspace by a gravity of uncaring star, only to be stripped to the bone by scavengers and reveal a moderately tragic story of how did it set off into its last journey. On the other hand, he also saw things turn out to be not what they seemed at first. A lot.

\- Well, we need to sort that out. At best it’s a corpse at our doorstep, and that tends to be bad for business. And at worst…

\- It’s a trap? A pirate trap? A hutt pirate trap? – young man’s voice was dismayingly more excited than worried.

“Say what you will about the Empire, but they did raise an entire generation that has never seen the wonders of the lawless life on the Rim”, - thought Farouk to himself - “Guess we are back to normal now, though”

\- At worst it’s one big drifting heap of trouble. Keep an eye on it while I see how to go about this.

Vir nodded eagerly and dug into the readouts while Farouk got his commlink.

\- Bay control, this is Director Okami, give me a status update.

\- Good day, Director. Everything is well in here – ships come, ships leave. External repairs on bay five have just been completed – the entire crew reported back safe and sound.

\- That’s great news, Agnin, though it’s still morning for me. Say, is the flyboy in chief by any chance where he is supposed to be?

\- As a matter of fact - yes, he is right here. You want to talk to him?

\- Yes, transfer me.

Few short beeps later administrator Agnin’s pleasant voice was replaced by somewhat less pleasant one of security chief Nelvik.

\- Director? I am listening.

\- Nelvik, we’ve got a potential ghost out there, so I want you to take your boys and probe it a little while I mount a boarding mission. I’ll feed you all the data we have.

\- Yes, sir! – Farouk suppressed a smile, as he could almost see Nelvik doing his brisk salute, - I am already on it!

Farouk cut transmission off and pulled himself a chair.

\- So, what else do we have on this ship? – he asked young technician.

\- Not much, sir. It is a Kalnar-class bulk cruiser, so huge chance it’s a corporate freighter. It has some kind of emblem on the hull, but I can’t get clear enough visual to identify it. They aren’t broadcasting any ID, but they aren’t even broadcasting a distress signal, so…

\- Yeah, I get the idea. What about their power readings?

\- Inconclusive. They do have heat signature, but it seems like both their shields and engines are down and overall damage appears very extensive… I am not sure there is anyone alive on board, sir.

\- Well, let’s wait and see what flyboys will be able to tell us.

Just slightly short of three minutes after, a dozen blocky shapes streaked past the deck’s main viewport. Farouk’s comm beeped.

\- Director, this is Aurek Leader, we are on our way.

\- Okay, Nelvik, listen up - I want you to do a flyby of that ship – assess its damage and try to raise them on close-range comm. The whole thing appears to be mostly dead, but be cautious, okay?

\- Copy that, director, we’ll approach carefully.

TIEs set onto interception vector without a second’s delay. Nelvik and his pilots were a good bunch – disciplined, dependable, and professional. They were part of a group of mercs that Farouk hired about two years ago and that now formed the bulk of his security force. From the very beginning he had little doubt that they were former imperials, perhaps even from the same Victory-class Star Destroyer that used to patrol the cluster, but he never held it against them – he had little love for the Empire, but not much less than he did for the Republic or any bunch of fat-necked bureaucrats that sat in the dusty room on the other side of the galaxy and tried to tell him how to live his life.

Fighters quickly reached the cruiser and started circling around it. Results came rather quickly.

\- Director, we are picking up weak comm signal from inside the ship. Relaying it to you now.

\- Vir, bring it up here.

An image that sprang up out of holo projector was not a pleasant surprise. It’s not that he had anything against aliens – another thing that life on the lawless fringes of the galaxy taught him was that as long as living being needed to eat and breath in a galaxy where there is only so much biomass and breathable gases to go around, it wasn’t essentially different from all the other beings that needed those things - it’s just that most of the bothans Farouk ever met were complete an utter scoundrels, whom he didn’t want within two star systems within his station. So a holo of bothan in what appeared to be some trading company’s uniform did not help his day at all.

The image flickered heavily and the sound seemed to be failing, but overall, with Aurek Squadron’s help it was getting through:

\- This is Captain Arko Oylar of the …..rca Star Corp! We’ve been … by pirates several systems from here and were forced to make an emerge … eavy damage to all systems! Requesting immediate assistance!

Vir looked up at Farouk quizzically.

\- Well, what are you waiting for? Patch me through, - he responded and cleared his throat, as all the necessary buttons were being pressed, - Captain, this is director Farouk Okami speaking, do you copy?

Little holographic bothan appeared to have jumped with excitement.

\- Yes! Great … xies – yes! Director, we request docking … ission – ship’s systems are failing rapidly and we need hel … epairs!

\- Captain, that’s impossible. Your engines are down, and even if you manage to start them up again there is good chance your ship will fall apart before it makes it to my station. Calm yourself and get your people to escape pods – I am sending out shuttles to pick you up.

\- No! We’ve got … the ship!

\- Captain, that’s preposterous. Ship’s fate should be the least of your concerns right now.

\- It is important! We … pay!

\- Captain, I am not going to risk my people or my station for this.

\- But our cargo…

\- Is more important than the lives of your crew?

\- No, … don’t understand! It is ….

\- I understand situation much better than you, apparently, - Farouk felt a sting of annoyance, - that is why I am sending out shuttles. You can either get on them or get yourself and your crew killed. Decide quickly.

Bothan captain appeared to be torn and panicked for a moment – even the poor quality and flicker of his holo couldn’t obscure it. Seconds later, though, he was able to get a hold of himself and looked straight at Farouk. But before he could say anything, a cry from one of the flight control technicians echoed through the room:

\- Ships are emerging from hyperspace! In three, two, one…

With what Farouk has always imagined would be a very satisfying “hooop”, if interstellar space was not the empty dead void it was, two ships dropped out of lightspeed on the same vector that troublesome Kalnar originally came in. Farouk wasn’t sure if the sound that immediately followed was produced by bothan captain or just a result of horrible failure of communication equipment, but the transmission was cut off, and his freighter, its engines magically back online, started performing some kind of maneuver. At the same time alarm went up throughout the control deck, informing everyone that one of the ships, a Carrack-class light cruiser, was identified as a known pirate vessel. Seconds later space lit up with flashes of laser and ion canons as the newcomers opened fire on the wounded freighter. Startled, Farouk watched his fighters scatter, leaving the field of fire, as the pirate cruiser and accompanying ship moved in on freighter that was somewhere in between making a feeble attempt at escape and falling to pieces.

Persistent beeping of his comm snapped him out of it.

\- Director, what are our orders? – if the entire situation was surprising or confusing for Nelvik, his voice did not betray it.

Though even for Farouk, who wasn’t a fighter ace with ice water in his veins, it didn’t take long to regain ability to think. He was a simple man, after all – as much as a bootlicking corporate freighter captain who also happened to be a bothan was not to his liking – pirate of any caliber was far worse.

\- Give this scum a couple of warning shots, and if they do not turn tails in thirty seconds, kick them out of my damn system!

There was a chuckle on the other side of the comm.

\- Copy that – give ‘em your signature treatment, boss. Aurek Leader out.

\- Communications! – Farouk called out, raising his voice so that entire control center could hear him and taking on the most commanding tone he could muster, - I need an open channel to these ships right now.

\- Y-yes sir! – Vir was the first to snap out of the shock that seemed to have paralyzed everyone in the room, but even his voice shook noticeably, - Channel open! You may speak.

With a tap on his communicator, Farouk connected it to the station’s main array, and, having channeled every last bit of the morning’s frustration into anger, spoke:

\- This is a warning to the attacking ships: you are intruding on the territory of the Okami Trade Center – cease fire and get out of here if you value your sorry lives at all. Fail to do so and I’ll make sure my men blow you into pieces so tiny I’ll be able to shell you out as glitterdust.

Tense silence hung over the bridge as he finished, with everyone intently looking out the viewport at the fires in the distance.

Then, without a sound, simple text message sprung up on a main communications console.

Farouk took a couple of steps closer.

“Don’t interfere and you will be spared” – the message said.

\- Well, that’s thirty seconds all right. Aurek Squadron – engage as planned and show these scum-suckers how real soldiers fight! – Nelvik felt exhilaration pumping through him as he threw his TIE in a sharp turn, leading his flight in a curve around enemy ship.

Seconds later pirates opened fire on them, but there was little point – Carrack-class cruisers were meant to be deployed in groups to provide flexible fire support to capital ships, and thus bore quite heavy artillery for a ship this size – but no point-defense weaponry, leaving them easy prey for starfighters that, this close, effortlessly avoided sluggishly moving lines of canon fire and put up a good appearance of chipping away at the cruiser’s shields, which also weren’t the strong side of the class. But their real target lied further – Nelvik kept track of second pirate ship as his flight made a quick, almost jousting run on the first one – that’s where the real danger was going to come from. Nelvik has seen quite enough freighters converted into primitive starfighter carriers to not know that this thing was going to spit out squadrons of its own at any second. Aureks were one of the best groups he ever flew with and there was a second squadron back at the station, but two squadrons was the minimum of what freighter that size, however poorly retrofitted, could carry, and one to one battle, even against uglies, could have cost him a lot of good pilots. And he was not about to let that happen.

Galaxy has seen a lot of conflict in the last couple of decades, and its denizens got really resourceful in constructing hodgepodge machines of war – to the endless frustration of professional armed forces, who had to get good at constantly playing a game of “guess what this homecooked monstrosity is armed with”, but Nelvik learned to use common mistakes of such designs to his advantage. For example, any military carrier of the last thousand years would come with a strong array of point-defense lasers protecting its hangar exits, but almost all civilian ships retrofitted to serve this role omitted them – and over the years Nelvik has gotten really good at using TIE’s speed and maneuverability to block and devastate entire squadrons of clumsier craft as they tried to launch from their carriers.

\- Aurek Leader, second target is preparing for launch!

\- Go get them, boys!

All four flights of the Aurek Squadron jolted simultaneously, leaving only slightly ruffled cruiser and turning to the carrier. To uninformed observer it may have seemed miraculous coincidence that they were in perfect positions to begin attack runs on its hangar immediately after, but Nelvik knew better. Discipline and coordination were a cornerstone of dogfighting, and any pilot forgetting that was going to face the same fate that awaited those pirates very soon.

He lined up his shot to where pirate fighters were supposed to emerge and prepared.

Not enough, as it turned out.

Three of the lights marking pilots of Aurek Squadron on tactical map went out immediately. And before Farouk could grasp what exactly happened, his comm exploded with Nelvik’s bellow.

\- Interceptors! How in the bloody galaxy do they have Interceptors?!

Farouk swore under his breath. Tactical readouts clearly showed his fighters being overwhelmed by faster and more powerful TIE Interceptors that pirate carrier was launching with frightening speed.

\- Hold on, Nelvik! I am sending out Besh…

\- Negative, sir! With such a clear approach even damn Carrack will mow them down! Our best choice is fight under protection of station’s turrets! Permission to retreat, sir?

\- Granted, damn it! Get back here!

“Can I please go back to being upset about oversleeping”, Farouk thought grimly as he sounded the station-wide alarm and activated its automated defenses. But even by then screens showed that barely a half of Aurek Squadron remained, locked in dogfighting and without a chance to retreat.

\- Director! – Vir suddenly jolted at his station, flailing his arms wildly – I have an idea! Quick!

\- Spit it.

\- We’ve gotta send a distress signal! You see…

\- Really?! That’s your plan?

\- Just listen! Our new comm array was completed last night! With it I can tight-beam a hypercomm message!

\- That’s not making it better, lad. For anyone to get it we’d need their exact coordinates – which we don’t, never mind that we don’t even have that “anyone”…

\- But pirates don’t know that! And if they detect us calling in a very specific direction, they might think we are actually calling someone who can handle them and turn tails! But most importantly, hypercomm frequencies are potent enough, that if I match them correctly, I can overlay the signal on Besh Squadron’s approach vector, and blind the enemy targeting systems! They can get in safely and help Aureks out!

\- Well… - Farouk knew person grasping at straws when he saw one, but – even to his own surprise – felt strangely good about that plan, - Ah, to the Maw with it! Do it!

\- Yes, sir!

As Vir swirled around to work his communications magic, Farouk gave Besh squadron order to prepare for launch, turned back to tactical screen and braced himself. He intervened were he could have stayed put, and now his entire station was in danger, but worst of all – there was nothing else he could do. And just sitting there, staring at a screen with no actual control over events that unfolded was beyond infuriating.

\- Aaaand… Our signal is on! – a sudden echo that accompanied Vir’s voice alerted Farouk to the tense silence that hung over the control deck.

\- Launch! – Farouk almost snapped into his comm.

As the fighters streaked away, he studied tactical map intently, trying to decipher whether the trick had any effect on the enemy. As Nelvik predicted, Carrack turned to open fire on the approaching enemy, but Vir’s magic seemed to have worked – pirates fired blindly, and agile TIEs avoided their deadly volley with relative ease. Control deck crew cheered, and situation seemed not completely dire after all.

During the second that it lasted, Farouk had a lot to think about.

There was a bright flash of triumph at first.

As it dulled, he wondered at how beautiful and organized such thing as a space combat looks on a flat surface of a screen.

And eventually, there was long and profound pondering of how distance, both physical and emotional alters one’s perception.

He watched red icons of TIE Interceptors jerk around, scramble and seemingly retreat, and his people regain some ground. And not even next second – it felt as if no discrete unit of time managed to worm itself between these two different states of the universe – they turned around in some kind of maneuver, and hit his fighters from both flanks.

And that was when a strange wave of calm washed over him as he realized: “Yes. Yes, those people are going to die because of my vanity. Yes, this is the worst moment of my life”. And it was with this newfound serenity that he took another panicked announcement:

\- M-more ships incoming from hyperspace!

Almost lazily Farouk looked at another set of figures that appeared in the corner of the screen. He fiddled with controls trying to get more data on them, and scrolled through the lines of text as they appeared.

It is interesting to note that later in his life he claimed that realization came to him long before he reached the ID codes, but the point is really moot, considering that studying the entire data layout couldn’t have taken him more than a few seconds.

And so, suddenly Director Farouk Okami, old hard-bitten Farouk who forty years ago ran to the end of the Outer Rim to escape the stench of galactic government, exclaimed the words he never thought he would say with such excitement:

\- It’s the Republic!

***

As the swirling torrent of hyperspace resolved itself into the starfield of the system listed in the navicomputer only as XVC-117A, bridge came alive with clicks and beeps, chatter and movement. Fajra always reveled in this buzz of activity - and knowing that it was all actually produced by six people - a standard bridge crew for a Nebulon B frigate – did not only not diminish the effect, but actually made it more impressive in her eyes.

She squinted at the blazing lights in the corner of a viewport, then leaned a bit over the railing of command post as if those few inches were what kept her from seeing the events unfolding hundreds of thousands kilometers away. With that maneuver yielding no results, she turned around and in a stride was by the main console, burrowing into rows and columns of sensor data.

\- All right, everyone! Presume hostile territory and launch fighters – and give me an update on the distress signal!

\- Signal stopped broadcasting, commander! Last known position – within current system, narrowing down impossible.

Fajra drummed out a little rhythm on the metallic casing of the console.

She took a risk in bringing her patrol here. They were going through popular trade routes between New Republic planets and yet unaligned Outer Rim worlds when they received a distress signal from a republic trader under attack by pirates. Fajra responded immediately, but when they have arrived to the system of signal’s origin, it has moved – beckoning them to follow it, but this time – to far outside of what was more or less commonly accepted as “Republic territory”. Any sensible commander would have assumed such situation to be a trap, and Fajra, while prone to a certain level of hotheadness, was nothing if not sensible. So she put her crew on alert, raised shields, prepped fighters, sent a message to the Fleet Command - and gave order to jump again.

The fact that they weren’t shot at immediately after dropping out of hyperspace spoke to the idea that it wasn’t a trap after all – and, as all readings indicated, the only people present in the system were too preoccupied to arrange for one.

“But then again, isn’t it what you’d want person falling into a trap to think?” – as usual, she found the input of ever-present critical self valuable, if not exactly helpful.

There were three other ships in system, maneuvering closely to a moderately sized trading outpost. Two of them were immediately identified by central computer as wanted pirate vessels, and for the third one both “ship” and “maneuvering” were rather strong words – a trading freighter to which pirates finally caught up – Fajra had to assume. So between a Nebulon B frigate, a CR90 corvette and two squadrons of X-wings that her patrol consisted of, there wasn’t really any serious threat – the only complication that situation seemed to be presenting was that they were a military battlegroup far outside their legitimate territory. With all the chaos around the galaxy one could never foresee all the possible consequences of such predicament – and her position as an officer of the New Republic Navy meant Fajra needed to take such things into account.

However, she had strongly believed that holding this position also didn’t leave her much choice in what to do next.

\- All hands to battle stations! Set up engagement comm channels and give me unit status update! – she exclaimed, and couldn’t hold back a little smile when the bridge crew gave a cheer to that command.

Moments later, first group of green icons blinked into existence starboard of her ship.

\- Bridge control, this is Ewok Leader - standing by, - comm crackled with a familiar voice.

Only seconds behind, second group took its position portside.

\- Bridge control, this is Pulsar Leader - standing by.

\- _Valor of Atollon_ to _Yereel_ – awaiting orders, commander.

Fajra took a second to inhale and enjoy the moment.

\- Officers, your orders are as follows: _Valor_ – secure the freighter and pin down enemy fighters; Pulsars will fly cover; Ewoks, begin your run on the enemy Carrack, and I’ll follow.

There was a pleasant echo of multiple confirmations.

\- Communications, give me an open channel to the enemy!

\- Yes, commander!

With a smile that she couldn’t help, Fajra walked back to her command post. Stars in the viewport have shifted as _Yereel_ set its course toward the pirate vessels – and Fajra could have sworn that she felt a gentle nudge as the frigate’s powerful sublight engines kicked in.

Having checked her comm, she brought out her stone-cold officer persona, which would cause professional envy in many an imperial officer back in the day, and spoke:

\- Attention to the pirate vessels! This is Commander Fajra Kreol of the New Republic! You have one chance to surrender – and I advise that you do not waste it.

Judging by the fact that pirate forces reacted by starting to rearrange themselves to face her, Fajra assumed that they were not a surrendering kind. Or even a talkative one, since even an entire minute after her message they still haven’t sent out a taunt promising to atomize all the fools who oppose them.

Fast as her ship was, it still obviously couldn’t match starfighters or a CR90 for speed, so it wasn’t long before _Yereel_ fell into the back of the attacking force. As the bright dots of the engines ahead got small enough, Fajra started counting down from hundred in her head.

At eighty eight fighters slowed down, transferring valuable energy from engines to weapons and shields and spreading out their s-foils. Fajra never was a part of starfighter core herself, but understood perfectly well how important that particular moment was for pilots going into battle.

At seventy two first pilots reported engagement.

At sixty five _Valor of Atollon_ joined the fray. Pirates clearly appeared to be bruised by some previous encounter – with either the freighter’s escort or station’s defense forces and, while unexpectedly packing quite dangerous TIE Interceptors, they were still outclassed by Pulsar’s X-wings. And dogfighting under the guns of enemy’s anti-starfighter ship like a CR90 corvette rarely ended well even for the best pilots. Any one of these three factors could have decidedly tipped odds in favor of republic forces, but combined, they left pirates no chance at all.

At thirty one tactical map showed only five Interceptors remaining with only one x-wing down - its pilot having ejected and relatively safe. The only thing that could have presented a problem was that Carrack’s heavy weaponry made it very dangerous for the _Valor_ , but it was avoided due to its helmsman’s ingenuity – as soon as there appeared danger of corvette’s shields giving in, he maneuvered to place the pirate’s own largely unarmed carrier between them.

At thirty a volley of proton torpedoes launched by the Ewok Squadron hit Carrack, tearing through shields and decimating two of the heavy gun placements.

At seventeen Ewoks begun their second run on the cruiser while somebody on the carrier had finally lost their nerve – ship suddenly powered down its engines and meager weapons and sent out a “white flag” signal.

At zero _Yereel_ entered effective firing range.

\- Open fire on target one!

Under normal circumstances a punch-up with bigger and bulkier cruiser like that would have been a bad time for _Yereel_ and its crew, but in this situation even starting it was almost a token effort – damaged, caught out of position and skillfully besieged by pilots of Ewok squadron, Carrack couldn’t have offered much resistance.

At minus seventy nine it was over.

All pirate fighters were destroyed, and what remained of Carrack that had stoically refused another call to surrender, was a deformed mess that went through its last moments in life leaking out atmosphere in fiery clouds and shaking from inner explosions.

The victory was swift, decisive and with zero casualties. Fajra struggled to remember any engagement in her entire career that went as smoothly. She sent out instruction concerning rescue efforts for the people on board of the damaged freighter, and was about to join her bridge crew in their moment of cheer and joy, when a signal of incoming transmission interrupted it.

\- The station is hailing us, commander - communications officer was quick to snap back to protocol.

\- I’ll take it.

\- Transferring.

A small blue image of a gruffy looking man decidedly past his first half a century appeared on her console. Fajra was technically savvy enough to not write off any piece of modern technology she didn’t fully understand as some kind of “techno-magic”, yet not enough so that she would understand how computers matched holos in a way that the final image always organically looked at you, no matter from which perspective it was scanned and on which device projected. It bugged her to no end.

\- Good day, officer, - small blue man spoke to her, - I am Director Okami, and I am in charge of this fine establishment. We are grateful for your assistance – situation was… getting out of control.

Fajra chuckled.

\- If that’s how you want to put it. Regardless, New Republic is always ready to provide a helping hand. Now, let’s just get done with the formalities, so me and my people can be on our way.

\- What do you mean? – little blue man’s little blue brows crept up in surprise.

\- Oh, come on, director, surely you understand. Finding two pirate ships attacking a trading vessel right by a station like this… Things need to be checked.

Old man appeared taken aback for a moment, before exploding into a cloud of rage and flailing limbs.

\- What?! How dare you, you republican half-wit! I lost good pilots fighting this scum off this damn freighter and you dare…! You have no right! This is a sovereign territory of Free Planet’s Coalition! You are invading! Pick up your scum-licking bothan and get the hell out of my system immediately!

\- Sir, please calm down, - still riding the high of a clean victory, Fajra found the entire outburst rather amusing, - I think we both know that Coalition isn’t a real state. And I just need to make sure…

\- I don’t give a flake of spacedust for what you need! I swear that if you even think about trying to put a foot on my station, I’ll…

\- Sir, fighting piracy is a common goal for all peoples of the galaxy, and I’d appreciate…

\- Appreciate this! – a man blurted out a word that sounded like dying cry of a very big animal, and was, Fajra suspected, the worst curse in his possession.

“I really should check recording out and try to learn it later”, - she thought as man looked like he was about to start jumping in his rage, - “Wonder what ticked him off so badly? Could this be an act?”

\- Sir, this is just a formality that I have to abide by.

\- So go abide by your formalities somewhere else, or so help me!

Not to be easily deterred, Fajra decided to change her angle.

\- Fine. You, sir, are a businessman, right? So, what would you do if somebody passing by got really interested in getting a tour of your station?

Little blue man crossed his arms on his chest, and stared at her through narrowed eyes. If one were to take picture of him, it would fit very well as an illustration under Great Basic Dictionary’s article on “Suspicion”.

\- Say I unload a few of such interested people, they pay a small fee and some minor clerk of yours gives them a tour around your fine establishment. Then we pack up and get out of your hair. What do you think?

Small blue man sifted through several various moods, before shrugging, as if none of that was even his concern:

\- Ugh, fine. As a thanks for helping us out. And do something about the hunk of junk that started this mess. I do not know if there even is still someone alive in there, but they were twenty minutes ago.

\- Of course, and thank you for your hospitality.

\- And miss? This Republic of yours won’t get anywhere in this galaxy with such a tenacity for sticking its nose where it doesn’t belong.

\- Duly noted, director. I am sending my men over.

As transmission was cut, Fajra called upon her staff officer.

\- Contact our ground team. I want six, no, eight people in civilian clothes there, armed. Relay the mission to them. They are to stay alert, but under no circumstances provoke locals.

\- Yes, commander!

\- Communications, an update on the freighter?

\- Their main comms are down, but we are picking some very weak signal from personal communicators. If we get closer, we can set up a channel.

\- Helm, get on it!

As _Yereel_ started gliding in a gracious turn towards the unlucky republic freighter, Fajra couldn’t help but scratch her head. As the chewed up hull of the ship took up more and more of the viewport, it became apparent that her first impression was correct: it wasn’t really a ship anymore, but a flying, barely even hermetic tank. At best. The only way to save the ship’s crew would be to evacuate them as fast as possible, and that was where the problems began. The freighter was almost twice the size of _Yereel_ and had to have crew at least as big. Evacuating such an amount of people was a task a patrol force simply wasn’t outfitted for.

\- Commander, we’ve picked up the signal.

\- Bring it on, - Fajra acknowledged absentmindedly, and was still playing with options in her head when connection went through.

\- Oh, thank the stars! – the person on the other side of the channel was a bothan who somehow seemed to be in worse condition than ship he was on, his fur dirty and disheveled, his eyes wild - Officer, do you copy?!

\- Yes, this is commander Fajra Kreol of the New Republic Navy speaking. What is your status?

\- Bad, but stable. But this is not important, commander! I have an extremely important information for you and we can’t establish a secure channel for it, so I’ll need a permission to come aboard your ship.

That took Fajra by surprise. Freighter’s ID was coming up in all systems as a private trading vessel from one of the Republic’s many worlds, but in no way suggested any possible connection to the military.

\- Sir, I am afraid you’ll need to explain at least a bit more before I can allow this.

\- We haven’t got time! - bothan’s voice slipped into a low growl, - Commander, I am transmitting you my security code, check it now!

Still not sure where the situation was going, Fajra simply acknowledged.

\- Commander, data package incoming!

\- Put it through.

Fajra studied the message that came up on her console with slowly widening eyes. She took out her rank cylinder and connected it to the computer. Then stood silently for a moment.

\- I’ll meet you in the hangar, - she finally said, before cutting transmission off.

Turning around, she caught a couple of intrigued glances from the officer posts.

\- It appears we are not yet done here, gentlemen. Standing orders are to remain combat ready and monitor the system. We will soon be approached by a shuttle from the freighter and it is to be thoroughly scanned. If it comes up clean, allow its landing. I’ll be back shortly.

With that she walked off the bridge into the dimly lit silence of the ship’s corridors. There Fajra allowed herself a second to stop, take a deep breath and let out a couple of curses. The security level of the code that bothan provided was way above her own, which promised nothing but trouble.

“Well, who would have thought that blindly charging beyond Republic borders without proper authorization could go not absolutely smoothly?” – a sly comment surfaced in her mind.

She cursed again.

“Oh, shut it. You are actually enjoying this”.

Fajra wasn’t particularly fond of her critical self.

She stepped into the hangar right as the shuttle carrying the away team passed through the blue shimmer of the magnetic field and took off towards the station. Icy chill, unavoidable in a place separated from the interstellar void by virtually nothing, immediately crept under the uniform making her shiver a little. Hangar was mostly empty except for a lonely X-wing in the corner with which its pilot and two mechanics were performing some kind of ritual. Or just doing maintenance – one could never tell with these people.

Brown outline on the X-wing’s white surface suggested it to be one of the Ewoks. As she walked towards it, Fajra tried to make out which one was it. Pilots of Ewok squadron had a tradition – upon entering the group, every new pilot painted a cartoony representation of themselves as an ewok somewhere on the hull of their X-wing. Pilots absolutely adored this little ritual, especially since it was a hard-won one: Rebel Alliance relied on cooperation of multiple species long before restoration of the Republic, so species politics and everything even remotely related to them have always been a rather thin ice to tread on. And with the ewok’s almost universal popularity with all the citizens of Republic after the events of the Battle of Endor, many believed both the ritual and the squadron’s name to be disrespectful of everyone’s little furry heroes. But pilots of the Ewok squadron defended themselves adamantly, and the ewoks themselves didn’t seem to mind, so eventually everything calmed down, and pilots hung on to their name and, in Fajra’s opinion, rather cute ritual.

She almost reached an optimal angle to get a good look onto cartoony face painted right under the fighter’s canopy, when issue resolved itself even easier – Fajra recognized pilot’s voice.

\- Toven? What are you doing here?

\- Oh, commander! – old, or at least, old by pilot standards, man turned towards her and spread his arms as if going for a hug – a weird habit he was known for, - Had to come in. Last of the pirate bastards managed to overload my shields, and they wouldn’t come back online. Arfive couldn’t fix it, so I decided to quickly pop in. Don’t worry, my guys can handle themselves out there.

\- Of that I have no doubt, - Fajra picked a crate to sit on, and nodded in response to salute from mechanics, - No surrendered enemy or space debris is a match for the might of Ewok squadron.

\- That it is, commander. But what are you doing here?

\- Having a meeting, apparently. There is something going on with the freighter we came in for.

\- Oh, is there? Huh. A strange operation all around, - Ewok Leader rubbed his chin thoughtfully, - You know, I had to re-check my readings when I realized we are going up against Interceptors.

\- Yeah, that was weird… - Fajra nodded slowly, only now realizing this detail that slipped her attention, - A bit pricey for common pirates, aren’t they?

\- And gotta say their pilots were no pushovers either. We had every imaginable advantage on our side, and they still gave us a run for our money. You sure those were pirates, commander? Not some kind of leftover Imps?

\- Oh, blast it. I am not sure of anything by now, - she answered, watching as a small civilian shuttle approached the magnetic field, - But hopefully, things will start making at least some sense soon. And Toven?

\- Yes, commander?

\- Fix your shields quickly.

\- Yes, sir! – the man straightened up and replied with his signature mix of bravado, joust and that particular tone that somehow universally inspired faith in people around, that Ewoks came to call “the dad pitch”.

As Fajra walked away and towards the landing shuttle, she instinctively checked her holster.

“Oh, damn, should I have brought guard?”

She didn’t get a chance to finish that particular line of thought as the second the shuttle touched the deck, an airlock opened on its side from which bothan captain almost literally fell out. Still every bit as rugged as he looked on the holo, he swung his arms around, as if trying to balance on a tight turn, immediately locked his eyes on Fajra and moved in with an almost unnerving determination.

\- Officer! Commander! – he started speaking loudly, but as he got close and quite unceremoniously clasped Fajra’s shoulders, dropped down to almost a whisper, - I barely have time to explain, commander, but you need to protect my freighter and its cargo by any means necessary! I am not exaggerating when I am saying that the fate of the Republic depends on it.

\- What?! – Fajra took a step back, if only to free herself from an unwelcome familiarity, - Can you just calm down for a second? The danger has passed, can you explain what is going on here?

Bothan looked around wildly and seemed to have sniffed the air, before taking a deep breath and raising his finger in front of her face.

\- Okay, commander, listen very, very carefully. I am not supposed to reveal any of this to anyone below the rank of vice-admiral, but there seems to be no choice. My name is Wolch Zinni, and I am a colonel in the New Republic Intelligence. I am in the process of transferring an extremely important piece of secret cargo to the Republic Fleet Command, but apparently there was a leak. We were ambushed between jumps in a system location of which was kept secret, our convoy destroyed and freighter damaged. You did an immense service to the Republic in coming to our aid when you did, and now it’s up to you to help us see this through.

Fajra put a lot of effort in suppressing the urge to swear loudly. She rubbed her nose bridge, trying to wrap her head around this new information, but as usually, the important part hit her all on its own.

\- Wait a second, - she felt the chill of the hangar turning unnatural and traveling down her spine, - You mean to say that those “pirates” were actually someone with an access to the closely guarded republic secrets? And they badly want your cargo?

\- Yes, we had suspicions that some powerful anti-republic group discovered the project and…

\- Oh, blast it all to the Maw… - realization completely grabbed her exactly when it always does.

A second before becoming useless.

\- Commander! – officer’s voice cried out from her comm in the very same second as the alarm went off, - Another ship just entered the system! It’s… It is…!

The series of fateful engagements in system XVC-117A, or as it was referred to for several months after by various clients of Okami Trade Center – “The Big Brawl”, occurred at the cusp of year 8 ABY, meaning that by then commander Fajra Kreol was with the Rebellion and the government it established for twelve years total. Over that period of time she saw a complete change of warfare she was involved in: from petty hit-and-runs of the earliest days of the Rebellion, to the battle of titans above desert world of Jakku. Different as those times and paradigms were, some rules in the playbook remained the same. “Do not mess with Imperial-class Star Destroyer” was definitely one of them.

It is likely that on any other day it would have taken Fajra a few moments to fully grasp the situation, but on that particular day she was already in the state of mind required to accept the fact that one of the most fearsome things in all of cosmos has just dropped on your head. Or at least, more so than on most other days.

Without hesitation she rushed back to the bridge, with bothan tagging along by her side.

\- Remember, commander - whatever it takes. We can’t allow this cargo to fall into the hands of the enemies of Republic, but destroying it must only be the absolutely last resort.

\- But we can’t win against… that. My people will die and this cargo of yours will fall into the enemy’s hands anyway.

\- We don’t have to win. Just hold on. A special fleet taskforce is assigned to security of this project, and I know for a fact that it is closing in on us right now. So delay the enemy - by any means necessary.

Fajra nodded silently. She was a soldier her entire adult life – she knew this kind of orders.

Crossing the hangar only took them about twenty seconds, but during this time Fajra came up with the skeleton of a plan. Wasn’t really a good one, but so very often battlefield commander’s strength lied not in the quality of their ideas, but in their ability to come up with them fast enough. She called Toven over, and briefly explained what the next action of the Ewok Squadron should be.

\- Hmm… You know, Fajra, I am not really sure this would work. Just feel obliged to mention it, - the man said while scratching his head.

That made Fajra smile. Toven was a man not devoid of imagination – most any other person she knew would be calling her sanity into question.

\- Not sure? This is absolute madness! – Wolche’s eyes somehow managed to get even wider during the makeshift presentation.

\- You’ve set the mission parameters, colonel. I just do what I can with them.

Bothan made a snarling sound that Fajra interpreted as a reluctant acceptance of the torment that is life.

\- Duly noted, - she nodded back to Toven. - Will you be able to lead the squadron?

\- Yes. I’ll be out there in thirty seconds.

\- Well… May the Force be with you.

\- May it be with us all.

Pilot rushed back to his fighter, loudly calling out instructions to mechanics, while Fajra headed to the elevator that could take her right back to the ridge level of the ship. There, after a few moments of thick silence, Wolch, for whom it was obviously too late to leave the ship, cleared his throat.

\- So you really think this has a chance to work?

\- Yes. During Operation Cinder a battlegroup under command of general Antilles pulled something similar. They had three more CR-90s and a couple additional squadrons, though. But I believe that wasn’t the key to their success.

\- Oh, and what was?

Fajra cracked a smile as the elevator doors opened into a corridor just a few meters away from the bridge.

\- Sheer gall of it, if I am not mistaken, - she said and marched back into her dominion.

For a layman not familiar with nuances of space travel and combat it would be difficult to feel any genuine fear of a grey smudge in the distance of a viewport. It just so happened, though, that there was no such people on the bridge of _Yereel_.

\- Commander, Star Destroyer is moving in and doesn’t respond to our hails! – voice of the navigation officer was just a step away from shaking - _Valor_ and both squadrons are requesting orders!

\- All power to the shields and move in to attack!

It was a credit to the training and resilience of the bridge crew that despite them obviously not expecting this, the order was picked up almost immediately.

As _Yereel_ was set on the course towards what was likely to be its final battle, Fajra walked up to her command post and scrolled through the readouts about the enemy ship. Even if the all too familiar silhouette of an Imperial-class haven’t begun to become clear in the distance, there would still be no doubt what they were up against. The ship’s entry was one only a Star Destroyer could pull off: relying on its gargantuan mass and infernally powerful hyperdrive, it borrowed far deeper into the star’s gravitational well than any normal ship would be able to and appeared, in terms of stellar distances, almost on top of republic forces, leaving them no time to formulate a proper response.

“Which is probably good for us. Given more time, I’d have definitely talked myself out of this” – Fajra thought as she signaled communications to connect her to the battlegroup’s main channel.

\- This is Commander Fajra Kreol to all forces – engagement is inevitable. _Valor_ and Pulsars – you are being transmitted coordinates of an engagement marker. Your task is to draw as much of enemy fire as you can until _Yereel_ passes it. Then you are to retreat to safety.

One after one, lights on the tactical map lit green in confirmation.

_Yereel_ was charging straight at the colossal enemy, while _Valor of Atollon_ and Pulsar Squadron took flanking positions.

\- Helm, point us at enemy bridge and charge at full speed! Let’s threaten them with a little old-fashioned ramming!

There was a definite murmur of confusion among officers. In the desperation of the darkest days of Civil War many battles were won by Alliance through the brutal act of sacrificing entire ships in ramming attacks on larger imperial vessels. And while all who attempted them gave their lives willingly, the tactic still was considered bottom of the barrel desperate, and somewhat frowned upon even back in the day. Now, in the days of relative peace and Republic’s triumph the very idea seemed unsightly.

\- On my mark, prepare to evade starboard – Fajra decided to clear her intentions, so as to not mess with crew’s performance for no real reason.

That seemed to put some minds at ease – or at least replaced confused murmur with confused glances.

It wasn’t long before the red cone indicating enemy’s effective firing range on the tactical map fell over the green speck of _Yereel_. Everyone on bridge got a couple of terrifying moments to watch as a salvo of brilliant green energy made its way through the inky blackness of space and splashed against the shields, shaking the ship to the core. This stark reminder of exactly how powerful their enemy was, did nothing to boost Fajra’s confidence. But it was somewhat late to turn back at this point.

\- Transfer weapon power to the engines! Full speed ahead!

Second wave of fire washed over the ship, though this time all the shaking was accompanied by the lovely sound of alarm informing the crew that some of the shield capacitors have exploded. Nevertheless, Fajra thanked the Force for the arrogance of man. “Some” notoriously didn’t mean “all”, and that was most likely because whoever stood on the bridge of the enemy ship committed a mistake understandable for anyone given a command of something called “Star Destroyer” – they decided to end all their problems in one go, splitting the ship’s fearsome firepower between all three approaching targets – frigate, corvette and squadron. And that gave them a chance. Not only in the form of them still being alive, though. For her plan to work, Fajra needed enemy to stay confident that they are in control just for a little while longer.

_Yereel_ shook again, this time taking to an early grave some of the internal systems – lights went down on the bridge and were replaced by the eerie glow of the emergency subsystems. Fajra’s personal console went dark, but it didn’t really matter anymore – grey hull of the rapidly approaching Star Destroyer was clearly visible in the viewport. Ship was blasting at them with all its fearsome firepower, but was in no hurry to launch fighters, its captain evidently confident that they can hold such small attacking force at bay with no problems. And they were mostly right too – a subdued groan traveled through the metallic hull of _Yereel_ after another particularly heavy hit of the turbolaser battery - a farewell from the shield generator, Fajra assumed. One of the officers shouted something to her, but it was drowned out as a lucky blast hit _Yereel’s_ now unprotected proton torpedo launcher and detonated its payload, rocking the frigate with a powerful explosion and sending everyone crashing to the floor. Not so much swearing, as much as producing a partially audible roar, Fajra pulled herself up by her console stand, looked through a viewport and saw her gambit finally pay off: Star Destroyer began tilting and turning starboard, its commander having finally realized the intention _Yereel_ was broadcasting. Ship’s massive triangular frame had shifted, turning away and raising its portside “wing” in an attempt to either avoid “ramming” frigate entirely or at least take hit glancingly with its armored belly. That maneuver, however, effectively placed Star Destroyer’s own hull between most of its weapons and _Yereel_ , allowing the frigate that otherwise would have been blown to bits to reach its intended point.

\- Helm, mark! – Fajra exclaimed as they’ve got close enough for her to almost see inside the viewports of the enemy ship.

_Yereel_ changed its course as rapidly as a its newly damaged state allowed for, and instead of slamming into Star Destroyer in a fiery explosion, rushed right past it.

\- Ewoks, launch, now! – Fajra cried into her commlink, overcoming a completely dry throat.

\- Aye, aye, commander!

X-wings of the Ewok Squadron disabled magnetic locks that kept them perched on the starboard casing of the frigate’s engines – safely hidden from the enemy fire and scanners by the ship’s slender frame – and in bare seconds were accelerating in attack on their target - one of the Star Destroyer’s sublight thrusters, now conveniently facing them without any protection from its fighters or point-defense batteries.

In a heat of a space battle a single squadron of starfighters, even heavily armed ones, like X-wings, wouldn’t usually be much of a threat to capital ship. While theoretically possessing enough firepower to punch through its shields and armor and do some damage to important systems underneath in a single attack run, in a real combat scenario a twelve fighter squadron almost never had a chance to coordinate properly for it. But when specifically given a safe time window and a direct approach vector…

\- Five hits! I repeat, five torpedoes are through the shields! Visible damage to central thruster! – Toven’s distorted voice sounded triumphant through the commlink, - We’ve got enough time for a second run – going for it!

Fajra smiled – one day she was so going to tell her grandkids about how she defeated a Star Destroyer.

\- Commander, the enemy is turning around! Ten seconds to weapons lock!

\- Continue evasion starboard! If they want to shoot us so bad, they’ll have to roll for it!

\- Enemy fighters are launching!

Instinctively, Fajra turned to her console, but it was still dead, so she had to once again rush towards the main one at the center of the bridge. Tactical map indeed showed the first squadron of TIE fighters deploying out of the main hangar, but that still left Ewoks with enough time to finish their second run. She raised her eyes and saw Wolch who was standing silently at the entrance to the bridge.

\- Well, colonel, I am pretty sure they are focused on us now. Let’s hope that this taskforce of yours will be here on time.

But before he could answer anything, a tremble of another hit rolled over the ship.

\- Glancing hit, commander! We are still out of their sights!

\- Keep it up then. And signal _Valor_ and Pulsars to retreat to hyperspace.

\- But, commander...

Another hit interrupted officer’s answer. It was different - instead of a wave of shaking vibrations that accompanied hits on the outer hull, or a low roar that came with inner detonations, this one threw everyone to the side in a short impulse that was over in a second, and replaced with a strange, flowing feeling. From where she landed on deck, Fajra could see how stars in the viewport began drifting sideways… And then there was an explosion.

And then – darkness.

***

\- Commander Kreol.

Hearing the call jolted her, tearing away the half-dream, half-memory she slipped in while waiting. Vision quickly focused on the silvery 3PO droid standing right in front of her.

\- Commander Kreol, admiral is ready to see you, - droid said with perpetually concerned tone that came to be associated with the model.

\- Oh, yes, thank you.

Fajra stood up and stretched – for first couple of days after an intense bacta therapy muscles stiffened easily. She was alone in the pristine waiting room, the only other officer having disappeared somewhere while she was letting her mind wander. With an instinctive gesture she straightened out her uniform, and after a brief consideration, took off her cap and held it at an elbow. No other pointless actions came to mind, so she stepped towards the door, that slid away gently, inviting her into admiral’s office.

The room she entered was entirely typical, and not only because such was the modular nature of military space stations. Everything in it painted almost a propaganda portrait of a high-ranking New Republic officer: clean white flowing surfaces, embedded into New Republic tradition by mon calamari design, a size that was just big enough to convey a sense of importance, yet compact enough to not be pompous, a pile of infopads on the desk that was just a right amount of “working mess” – all told a pretty story of an ascetic, busy and dedicated public servant – exactly the way the galaxy wanted to see its officials in the post-Empire world. The only thing that did not entirely fit into this idyllic picture, Fajra knew, was the person that occupied the room.

In a lot of ways admiral Onoma had all the makings of a poster boy for the Repubic Navy – a mon-calamari veteran who pledged himself to the Rebellion while his homeworld still hesitated before its historic decision, his battlefield achievements could be easily compared to those of other heroes of his folk, like Ackbar, Raddus or Tarvis. But among younger officers of the fleet he was known primarily for being the youngest admiral of both the Rebellion and Republic, whose lightning fast journey through the ranks could only be described in terms of cosmic speeds. Such success inevitably bred a lot of talk about the nature of his promotions, with some even calling his moral integrity in question. And though even his closest friends and supporters had to admit that a man is willing to bend and stretch, if not outright break the rules in his favor at any time, that did not lessen his popularity with the fleet’s officer core.

“And swashbuckling heroes are needed at the time of war. At the time of painstakingly building a fragile peace they get shoved off to micromanage patrols in the Outer Rim – which brings us to here and now” – Fajra thought as she stood before the admiral’s desk and saluted.

\- Ah, commander. At ease, and, please, take a seat. How goes your recovery? – Onoma put away a datapad that he was studying as she came in and swiveled his huge fish eyes at her.

\- Bacta treatment was completed with no complications, admiral, thank you for your concern.

\- That is good to hear. Then, I trust, you feel up for this interview? I’ve read your report, but I am eager to hear about the incident from you personally.

\- Honestly, I am not sure if I can add anything of value to what I have written, - Fajra lowered herself into a chair in front of a desk, - There wasn’t much time for observation out there.

\- That may very well be, commander, but due to the nature of the… project you stumbled into, Fleet Command believes that the very tiniest bit of information could help. Let me begin by asking you: have you discussed these events with anyone?

\- Of course not! – she felt actually offended at the question, - Colonel Zinni was extremely clear about the level of secrecy on this whole thing! I didn’t even submit my report until I made sure that it was going through properly encrypted channel.

\- And that is a commendable caution on your part. But what about the people you talked to back there, on the ship? I understand that the heat of the situation may have required you to share some information with your officers.

\- Well, in fact it didn’t. I believe that the closest I got, was mentioning colonel’s name and rank when discussing the battle plan with Ewok Squadron’s leader, commander Toven Zapash. And I have to confess that I have no idea whether or not I had any right to do this.

\- That’s okay commander. You shouldn’t have, but the circumstances more than excuse you from such a mistake. You showed amazing bravery and skill out there, I want this to be clear.

\- Thank you, but I was just doing my duty. Colonel Zinni all but ordered me to stay and fight.

\- Oh, did he? – Onoma leaned back slightly in his chair, - You do realize that Intelligence and Fleet are different branches of Command, right? He had no right to give you orders, especially aboard your own ship.

\- Of course, I knew that. But on the spot I had to assume that he was telling the truth about the importance of the cargo, and act accordingly.

Onoma chuckled.

\- If every fleet officer’s definition of “acting accordingly” included scaring a Star Destroyer off with what is essentially bare hands…

\- Sorry, admiral, but that is decidedly not true, - Fajra felt a wave of uneasiness begin to rise from her stomach, - There was almost a thousand good people with me, many of whom gave their lives for the plan to work. That is the farthest thing from the “bare hands” that I could think of.

\- I did not mean to lessen their role, commander, I assure you. The sacrifices of the crew of _Valor of Atollon_ and pilots of Pulsar Squadron are among those of the greatest heroes of the Alliance, of that there is no doubt. But that brings us to our second point: these people were in position to give their lives due to your decisions. Would you like to comment on that?

\- Is this an ethical hearing, admiral? – she couldn’t stop herself from blurting out. She felt a lot of respect for the admiral, but a slight condescending undertone in his voice was starting to grind on her.

Onoma crossed his webbed hands on his chest and stared at her with big, glistening eyes. With all the time that Fajra spent in the navy, she has gotten quite good at reading mon calamari face expressions that were completely alien to most humans, but now she had no idea what the face she was looking at was projecting. Surprise? Interest? Or was it just a subdued scowl?

\- No, commander. But one of the purposes of this meeting is to finish an assessment of your performance, yes. So tell me: a distress signal that was effectively luring you away from the territories under Republic control had all markings of a trap to it. Why did you decide to pursue?

\- Because it was a distress signal, admiral – there is not much I can really add to it.

\- A commendable attitude, for sure, but you had to realize the risk you were taking on behalf of your crew.

\- Any risk that is taken by an armed force is less than one of a trader under a pirate attack, - it wasn’t the first time such questions were being asked of her, and Fajra had answers all but pre-written. Some of her fellow officers said more than once that she demands too much – from herself, from her subordinates, from the people around. And each time she answered that it was better than demanding too little.

\- Well, such a call was within your authority. And you dealt with the enemy force you encountered very efficiently. But the problem that arose afterwards… It is my understanding of the situation that you decided that damaging enemy’s sublight thrusters may force them to retreat to hyperspace. Was it so?

\- To an extent, yes. Judging by the information that colonel provided I assumed that the enemy must be aware of the approaching Republic reinforcements, and may opt to retreat if presented with a threat of being stuck in the system when they arrive. I won’t deny that I hoped for such an outcome, but in no way I could count on it. Main plan was to use reduction of enemy’s sublight speed and maneuverability that would have resulted from damaging their thrusters to distract them until the arrival of the taskforce.

\- So the enemy’s retreat was a surprise for you?

\- Can’t say so sir. As I stated in my report, enemy’s final attack snapped _Yereel_ ’s mid-section and caused a lot of secondary internal explosions, one of which hit the bridge. I was already unconscious when the Star Destroyer jumped.

\- I see. But the plan to delay the enemy wasn’t so special in itself. It’s how you decided to sneak your ship past the enemy’s field of fire that made your eventual success. Would you like to comment on your… unorthodox charge?

\- No sir, I do not. Good or bad, it was the call I made, and I believe that I would have done it again even if I knew the outcome for certain.

\- Hmm. Care to elaborate?

Fajra gathered her thoughts for a moment. Losing people under her command was nothing new to her – she was an officer on active duty most of her adult life, after all. But that didn’t mean that it stung any less. In the days of the Rebellion it at least felt like every loss was a sacrifice for some larger, all-redeeming goal… Goal that was supposed to be here and now. “What does a soldier who dies on the next day after victory die for?” – she couldn’t for the life of her remember who said that.

\- Let me put it this way, admiral. As a person, I am devastated. I knew a lot of these people for a long time, and even those that I didn’t, I mourn. But as an officer of the Republic, I know that I did what I had to. And so did they.

Onoma sat there in silence, looking at her. Then reached into a pile of datapads at the table’s corner.

\- You are right, of course, commander. Nothing in your actions gives Command a reason to doubt you – tactically, strategically or ethically. In fact, all this questioning serves only a secondary role in this interview, the main one being to present you with this.

He slid the datapad across the table to her. Fajra picked it up, read through the first dozen lines of text and felt her nails burrowing into her palms.

\- I am… honored, admiral, - she looked back at Onoma, - but I am afraid that I’ll have to decline.

\- Oh? – he did that particular type of eyeroll that Fajra typically took as mon-calamari way of raising a brow, - Interesting. Your file states that you have exhibited an interest in this kind of promotion numerous times before…

\- Well, yes, but that was before Senate decided on the “policy of disarmament”. While we were at war, commanding a capital ship meant making a difference in the galaxy. Now it’s a permanent garrison duty – everyone knows that. I would much rather retain my current rank and return to service that still means something.

Admiral cracked a grin.

\- For someone who is so steadfast about their duty to the Republic, commander, you don’t seem to be particularly excited about the course it is taking.

\- I am a soldier, sir. I don’t really have an experience in evaluating political courses. I just want to serve the Republic where I would be most useful to it – and the experience that I do have, tells me that, for better or worse, it is in situations like we just discussed.

\- And if Fleet Command, Republic itself even, believes that you are more useful elsewhere?

\- I am sorry, admiral, I just don’t see how.

Onoma appeared thoughtful. He stood up and walked across the office towards the viewport that was taking most of the wall opposite to the entrance.

\- What do you think was the most terrifying thing about the Empire? – he asked either his ghostly image on the other side of thick transparisteel or Fajra, who was slightly taken aback by the question.

\- Erm… Its ruthlessness, sir. I know that it wasn’t a first tyranny in galactic history, but I don’t think that any of the previous ones blew up inhabited planets.

\- And I always though that it was the way it came to be.

\- Excuse me, sir? – Fajra felt like she lost the thread of conversation entirely.

\- How Empire was established, commander, - mon-calamari turned back to her, - It wasn’t like an armada of Star Destroyers showed up over Coruscant the day after the Clone Wars ended and usurped the Galactic Republic. No - it was cheered into existence. Billions of people all across the galaxy delivered it into power with their own hands, of their own free will. What do you think commander – did the nature of the peoples of this galaxy radically change over the quarter of a century?

\- Uh…

\- Rhetorical question, I am sorry. What I am trying to say is that the fight of the Rebel Alliance is won, but it doesn’t mean that only gentle currents await Republic from here on. I can’t say that your idea of captain’s job today is completely wrong - the battles ahead are far different from what the likes of us are used to, but they still need to be fought, and they still need good soldiers. You are such a soldier, commander Kreol, and though you think that your talents are best employed elsewhere, believe me when I say that this is where New Republic needs you right now. The question is: do you believe the Republic?

Fajra was completely dumbstruck. Not that she walked into the office of the admiral expecting a few minutes of small talk, but that was still… a lot. For over a year now she tightly held onto the Outer Rim patrol assignments – seen by many as a dangerous and bitter work, for Fajra it was the last place where it felt like she was actually helping people. But when one of the most celebrated heroes of the Rebellion says that there is another important - truly important - duty that you are called to, however strange it may seem…

When her silence got uncomfortably long, Onoma spoke again:

\- I understand that this is the decision that you will need to think about. Should you decide to turn down the promotion after all, I will make sure that you are able to return to your regular duties as soon as possible and…

\- No, no need, sir. I accept. Sorry for wasting your time with that argument – it was very unprofessional of me.

Onoma smiled and came back to the table. He picked up the datapad that laid in front of Fajra and punched in a short code.

\- Well then: one of the Alliance’s MC80 cruisers was recently pulled out of conservation and is now being retrofitted at Mon Cala shipyards. It will soon be done and requires only a commanding officer. You are to report there at a two weeks’ time – until then you are granted a leave. Further details will be transmitted to you by the end of tomorrow, - he handed the datapad back to her – Congratulations, captain Kreol – Republic will continue to expect much from you. Dismissed.

Fajra almost jumped out of her chair, took the datapad and saluted the admiral. Her heart was racing and she wasn’t sure if she’d be able to master the craft of speech at the moment. When the door of the office slid shut behind her she still had no idea whether she just committed the biggest mistake of her career.

***

Onoma looked at the closed door for a couple of moments. Then, there was a beep behind his back.

\- So, how did it go?

He turned around, only to see a spinning New Republic insignia projected to where a holo of a person on the other side of a comm line would be.

\- Well, she accepted, if that is what you are interested in.

\- And what about…?

\- She is a good soldier. And among other things it means that she didn’t ask much questions. I don’t think that she would have been any trouble.

\- Well, better safe than sorry. What about others?

\- It appears that there weren’t many others. Only a couple people there even saw Zinni, much less learned anything about him or his mission. And with our newly promoted captain accounted for, you can safely call the leak secured.

There was a sharp laugh on the other side of the comm.

\- That was hardly the problem. We still have to figure out…

\- No, no, no – Onoma shook his head, - let me stop you right there. There is no “we”. I already have done more than I intended to – everything else is your problem.

There was a silence on the other side of the line, one that had a palpable grim undertone to it.

\- Don’t back down on me now, - the comm finally came alive again, - We have discussed it more than…

\- And I was very clear about my involvement. Force knows, you earned all these little favors from me, and perhaps even a shot at this whole insane project of yours… But it will end with someone like Fey’lya bringing your head to the Senate regardless.

\- Better men tried. I am not going to fail when there is so much to gain by succeeding.

Onoma sighed.

\- That - that right here is exactly why you _will_ fail. Sorry, old friend, but I am not going down with you.

Silence came again and hung thickly in the air before the holoprojector pinged and shut the image off, signaling the end of transmission.


	2. Stargazer

Mon Cala was a beautiful planet, of that Fajra had no doubt. Almost entirely tropical world of lush green archipelagos awash in the waves of deep and brilliant oceans – the fact that tourism wasn’t its most renown industry spoke highly of the inhabitants of these bright waters. In fact, the planet’s most famous feature lied beyond its atmosphere, and attracted far more visitors and business than its remarkable bioms. Mon Calamari shipyards were famous for their elegant and efficient designs even before they outfitted the navy that challenged the mighty Imperial Fleet – so after the fall of Palpatine’s New Order their popularity and fame came to rival even those of Kuat Drive Yards or Seinar Fleet Systems. And it showed: the amazing conical structures which looked more like palaces floating through space, than docks in which some of the most sophisticated stellar leviathans were being constructed, almost doubled in size and amount since Fajra was last here about a year ago.

She found it to be a breathtaking sight: myriads of little ships streaking around an intricate array of orbital structures, while their magnificent bigger relatives graciously glided in and out of repair and construction areas. Fanciful cruise liners, simple yet streamlined freighters, gleaming luxury yachts and much more restrained personal transports – it was an incredible luck for the galaxy that Mon Calamari people turned out to be resourceful warriors when pressed – but a single look across this hive of production made it clear that war could never have been their true calling. A thing of art and beauty, restored to its original purpose… Well, almost.

“But let’s make it so as soon as possible, shall we?” – Fajra smiled to herself, and with great effort tore her eyes away from the picture beyond the viewport.

\- Magnificent thing, is it not? Did you know that Mon Calamari were among the first spacefaring species of the galaxy? Debate is still being held by historians as to when precisely did they make it out of the system, but…

\- I am sure that’s a fascinating subject, Beexim, - she interrupted the lean droid, - but we are about to dock. Be a dear and get my case from the room – I already packed it.

\- You seem to be in a hurry to get off, master Fajra.

\- Eh, you could say so. I am somewhat anxious to finally see it. So go on – I’ll be dying to get off this rust bucket in the main vestibule.

Droid saluted to her – a gesture about origins of which in his programming she wondered for a long time now – and hurried away. Fajra, in turn, went down a corridor to be as close to the exit as possible when the ship finally docks.

She was being unfair, of course – _Pilgrim’s Effort_ , while not a luxury cruise ship, was certainly a well-maintained civilian transport, and her journey to Mon Cala was nothing if not comfortable. Yet she felt like she made the trip in the cargo hold of a smuggling vessel, accompanied by a brood hutts. Two weeks of her leave went by in a flash and she still wasn’t sure if she accepted the promotion because she truly believed admiral’s reasoning or just got swept up in his charisma. Being that fundamentally unsure of her actions wasn’t a comfortable state for her, so she was set on confronting it the same way she confronted most of her problems: by rushing headfirst into it. Hence the crawling up the walls on what would otherwise be a perfectly enjoyable trip.

Thankfully, though, it was over. As Fajra got down to vestibule an announcement went through the audio systems, informing the passengers that the ship was about to dock with the main orbital transport hub. People of all shapes and forms, inevitably drawn from every corner of the galaxy by Mon Cala’s booming economy, began to drift towards exit areas. Beexim joined her soon, carrying the case with her personal belongings. And in another fifteen minutes it finally happened: all exits were opened, releasing the passengers towards their new lives. Fajra stepped forward into gleaming white space of the hub’s central dome which welcomed all newcomers to Mon Cala, before ferrying them down to the planet or simply directing them towards their point of interest among the orbital constructions. She took a deep breath of the recycled station’s air as if it was somehow different than the one on the ship and took a moment to appreciate the hub’s impressive construction work. The central transport hub of Mon Cala spaceport was a gigantic conical structure topped off from the broad end with massive transparisteel dome, that created an artificial sky above visitor’s heads, with Mon Cala itself slowly drifting through it as if it was station’s brilliant blue moon. Soldier in Fajra could not ignore the fact that such design served little practical purpose and was a huge liability in more ways than one… But it didn’t stop her from staring at the dotted starfield in amazement.

As someone coming down from the ship bumped into her, she remembered that she was standing in the middle of the walkway. With Beexim following in her stead, she made her way into the reception area, where crowds of passengers were much thinner and consulted her datapad. The orders that she received two weeks ago along with the documents confirming her promotion were strangely vague. They clearly stated that she was now assigned to 47th Fleet as a commanding officer of a capital ship, and was to report to Mon Cala, assume command of a vessel there and take it to rendezvous with the fleet. Assignment itself seemed completely regular, except that a lot of details were missing, marked under “to be briefed on the spot”. One of such details, for example, was where exactly in the gigantic space complex of Mon Cala was her ship.

She was about to try and solve this question by contacting the local office of New Republic, but was interrupted when someone called her over:

\- Captain Kreol!

Fajra turned around and saw a tall figure waving to her from across the reception area. Figure, apparently seeing that she noticed, stopped waving and hurried ahead. As it got closer, she could see that it was a kel’dor male (at least she assumed so – their breathing masks made members of the species very hard to tell apart) in New Republic navy uniform.

\- Captain! I am sorry - there was some kind of mix up concerning your arrival gate, – he echoed through his apparatus as he approached her, - I apologize for that. I hope your journey here was satisfactory?

\- It was fine, thank you. Though I think I wasn’t informed of who would be meeting me here…

\- Oh, sorry, - kel’dor stretched out a hand, - Commander Nimtol Sur, at your service. I was assigned as an executive officer of your ship and have been overseeing its retrofits for the past month.

Such a divergence from military protocol surprised Fajra, but she still shook the three-fingered hand, which turned out to be coarse and rough to the touch, not soft and mushy like she always assumed when looking at kel’dor wrinkly skin… Which is exactly where it hit her that she has never seen a member of these species in the flesh before.

\- Pleased to meet you, commander. I look forward to working with you.

\- As do I. So, captain, do you have any luggage that needs to be taken care of?

\- No, Beexim has all of my stuff, - she gestured towards the droid.

\- All right then. You must be tired from your trip here. Let me take you to your accommodations and…

\- No! – Fajra stopped herself from raising her voice at the last moment, - I feel fine, commander. In fact, I would like to inspect my new ship right now, if possible.

\- Oh, okay, of course, captain – he said and with a gesture showed a direction towards one of the corridors leading away from the hub’s giant domed plaza.

\- Is that Beexim? – he added, having taken a look at the droid.

\- Yes, he is my personal assistant. Pay no attention to his exterior. He is basically a protocol droid underneath.

\- It’s hard not to. Never seen this model used this way before.

Fajra chuckled and started walking alongside commander.

\- Yes, he is from different time, that’s for sure. When I first made lieutenant back in the Alliance, I got command of an old Consular-class frigate. It was considered quite old even then and was falling apart almost constantly, so keeping track of its malfunctions and repairs was hell of a job on its own, never mind commanding it. So I looked to get a protocol droid to help me out, but of course nothing could be spared from more essential tasks. Lucky for me, though, my cell operated from an old separatist base at the time, so I have been able to scrap an almost functioning BX commando droid. Several weeks of staying up late with my ship’s mechanic, some modifications and lots of swearing and - whoosh – Beexim was helping to keep that flying heap of trash afloat. And by the time I got nicer ship to command, I got used to having him around – and you wouldn’t believe how often did his residual commando programming come in handy in the years after.

\- I can only imagine. Sounds like you’ve joined the Rebellion rather early. Before Yavin?

Fajra felt a touch of smug satisfaction. Back in the day Rebel Alliance’s cause was viewed by many as noble, yet ultimately hopeless. It took the assembly of idealists years of hardship and struggle to prove that the Empire could be challenged and defeated. Countless brave people rose to fight after that, and it was through their efforts that victory was finally achieved – but still, those who stood up to fight in the beginning, at the galaxy’s darkest hour, were awarded with special respect across many worlds and especially – among rebel soldiers themselves.

\- Way before that. I joined in… how is it in new calendar? About four years before Yavin, anyway.

\- Oh. But then… If you don’t mind me asking – how old were you then?

\- Sixteen. People weren’t exactly lining up to fight the Empire yet, so the recruitment standards were pretty low.

Commander made a humming sound that Fajra took as a sign that he was impressed. She kept studying him as they entered the crowded corridor that circled the plaza and led to a myriad docks for smaller ships. Kel’dor made a strange impression: while obviously comfortable in his military uniform, he didn’t act like a military man. His walk, stature, manners – all lacked a certain primness that Fajra came to expect from seasoned soldiers.

“Could he be a novice? Some sort of… special post-disarmament enlistment?”

\- So, commander Sur, was it? – she decided to postpone all the mysteries of the universe in favor of one that truly occupied her mind.

\- Yes, captain.

\- You say you have been in charge of retrofitting my ship. What can you tell me about it?

\- Well, I am no engineering expert – my role was primarily to oversee and organize things. But in general, it is a Liberty-type MC80. With one huge difference, though. You know how most of the Mon Cala ships that Alliance used were retrofitted civilian vessels?

\- Yes, of course. They didn’t start turning out purpose-built warships until after Endor.

\- Exactly. And, well, this one seems to be somewhat of a border case. Apparently it begun construction as a civilian vessel, but that was right before Mon Calamari begun to openly produce ships for the Alliance. So the decision to convert it was made very early in the construction process, making it is better fit for combat then most other MC80s.

\- Wait, if it was already a military model, then what are these retrofits?

\- I was told that it is a part of some larger contract between New Republic and Mon Cala. They get to test out some kind of brand-new reactor core and modified thrusters on it, and we get a sweet warship, for fraction of what it would cost to drag it out of conservation and get it ready for active duty ourselves.

Fajra, of course, knew the ancient adage of all soldiers about remembering that your weapon was made by those who asked the least money for their work, but as with all rules it was easier to accept its existence in general than in application to you personally. That must have shown on her face, because Nimtol hurried to add:

\- But our chief engineer assures me that it is all fine. Mon Calamari start field tests very late in development, so we have all reasons to believe that these modifications will work as intended and not only won’t interfere with ship’s workings, but will significantly improve its operational parameters.

On that optimistic note they took a turn from the main corridor into a hangar where numerous shuttles were landed. Nimtol led her to a small service craft bearing New Republic markings, unlocked the bubble-like canopy, revealing a tiny space for pilot and a couple of passengers and shrugged apologetically.

\- Sorry for the general lack of pomp in welcoming you, captain. Between Endor and Jakku these shipyards were almost completely run by Republic military, but now we only maintain a small garrison and try not to get in the way of people who are actually useful around here. So resources, as you can imagine, are scarce.

\- That is fine, - Fajra replied as she took one of the passenger seats beside Beexim, who kept following them silently, - General lack of pomp is exactly how I prefer it.

Nimtol took the controls and slowly maneuvered shuttle out of the hangar. His piloting wasn’t particularly good, Fajra noticed, which was another atypical thing for a fleet officer, all of whom were required to maintain a certain level of this skill.

\- So, commander… - if the man was to be her XO, she needed to clear up that confusion, - How long have you been in the navy?

\- Hmm… let me see, - kel’dor appeared thoughtful for a moment, - About fifty-three days and seven hours, if I am not mistaken.

\- What?!

Nimtol chuckled – a strange sound that could have been easily mistaken for something getting stuck in kel’dor’s breathing mask.

\- Sorry, captain – you asked about the navy, and I just couldn’t pass up the opportunity. I was with the Intelligence for about twelve years as well, and transferred to Fleet Command only recently, - he said with a tone that implied that this was an obvious explanation.

\- Well, this seems unusual…

\- Oh, it was, believe me. Had to pull a lot of strings, go through a course at the academy…

\- Why go to such trouble? I hear Intelligence is doing much better than Fleet right now.

\- Oh, it certainly does. Just not my department. We had a rather narrow profile and with the war’s end our services were no longer needed. So department got shut down, but I didn’t feel like going back to civilian life yet, so I requested a transfer.

\- Why navy then?

Nimtol shrugged:

\- I’ve always liked starships. Plus, fleet is a backbone of any democracy - haven’t you heard?

Fajra shot another look at commander – but kel’dor’s impenetrable face made it impossible to tell if he was joking.

They talked some more as shuttle made its way to the intended section of the shipyard. Fajra usually made it her business to know people under her command, especially those who answered to her directly, so getting to know her XO sounded like a great way to kill time during a shuttle trip. Commander was a refreshing person to talk to – whatever passed for social circle in Fajra’s life didn’t include many people who weren’t soldiers, and commander, despite responding competently to several little tests she sneaked into conversation, still carried himself in a decidedly unmilitary manner. She wasn’t really sure if that was the type of person she would have chosen as her executive officer, but saw no reason to complain. Plus, all the personnel assignments aboard military vessel fell under captain’s authority, so, if the need were to arise, switching XO wouldn’t be a problem… All doubts about future and purpose of her command aside, Fajra had to admit that so far it was nothing but perks.

\- Over there, captain, - Nimtol let go of shuttle controls to point at something in the surrounding structures, - I think you will like it.

Fajra traced his gesture to a web-like congregation of scaffoldings that branched out from a shipyard section that they were approaching. She couldn’t make anything out at first, but as her brain adjusted to the intricacies of construction site, she saw what lay beneath it.

And couldn’t hold back a smile.

It was a Mon Cala cruiser, as beautiful one as Fajra has ever seen. It had the familiar winged shape of Liberty-type, but appeared slimmer and sharper, its narrow bow and the unusual curve of the wings gave it a sense constant motion, as if the ship’s frame was somehow frozen in time in the exact moment of jump to hyperspace.

\- Amazing, - Fajra didn’t even care when she realized that she was instinctively clinging to the transparisteel of the canopy, - What is her name?

\- That, captain, is an interesting story. Apparently, while this ship was in conservation, its inventory file got damaged, and, long story short, it came here nameless. I have put in a request for clarification with command and they have sent me this, - commander said and handed Fajra a datapad.

\- A naming form, really? – she chuckled as she saw the text on the screen.

\- Yes, apparently, it’s up to you as a captain to rechristen the ship. Any ideas?

\- Not yet… But name is important. You’ve spent some time with this ship – what would you call her?

\- Well… It looks very sleek and it’s supposed to be quite fast for a cruiser... How does _Starrunner_ sound?

\- Hm. I’ll consider it.

A natural end to the conversation came when they landed in the hangar of the hub from which construction area extended itself. They disembarked from shuttle whereupon Nimtol gave Beexim some instructions about Fajra’s accommodations and droid departed with her belongings. After a short walk through the hub itself, Fajra found herself standing at the end of a docking sleeve in front of sealed airlock of the ship. Her ship.

She stroked her hand gently along its white surface and felt for a second as a hero of an old folktale who tamed mighty beasts of the magical forests. And then punched her personal identification code into a small console by the lock, which made the door slide open. While completely trivial – all relevant data must have been long since updated to account for her promotion, making her personal codes bear the highest authority on the ship – this final confirmation was still a pleasant thing.

The tour of the ship that followed became one of Fajra’s most treasured memories. Commitment and duty to the Republic took a lot of space in her life, but that certainly didn’t mean that they left no place for things like ambition. And commanding a magnificent star cruiser was a dream of hers for a long, long time. And even though the ship she once dreamed of guiding through space was different, it still didn’t lessen the fact that there she was. She walked through the innards of the vessel in the state of slight enchantment only half-listening to Nimtol who seemingly decided to get her familiar with full extent of his knowledge about every square meter of the ship, which, admittedly, was quite extensive.

Over a few hours of walking back and forth through the ship’s newly gleaming white corridors they must have made over a dozen kilometers on foot, but Fajra didn’t even notice the soreness in the legs that begun to set in. Retrofits were obviously nearing completion, as the ship was almost empty of workers, safe from the reactor core area. Nimtol assured her that a test flight will be possible in as short time as one standard galactic day, and if everything goes well, they can be cleared for active duty in a week. Fajra found such evaluation to be a bit too hopeful, but seeing as she was not exactly in a pessimistic mood herself, did not debate it.

Main starfighter hangar was the last stop of their inspection.

\- There is not much to look at in there yet, - kel’dor warned her as they approached the blastdoors that led inside, - we have only been supplied with three squadrons so far, and the two of them arrived without their fighters.

\- Empty hangar still has a lot to look at. What kind of storage system does it employ?

Nimtol consulted a datapad.

\- 4SD-WM, it says here.

\- Hmm. Sienar deployment… It allows to launch fighters very fast, but isn’t great when it comes to emergency repairs. But since we won’t be doing much heavy fighting anyway, it seems a good fit. Fishfolk put anything fancy in there?

\- Only if they didn’t declare it, - commander shrugged apathetically, as he fiddled with blastdoor console.

Massive armored panels slid aside, revealing a gigantic space behind them. Cruiser’s main hangar ran all the way from starboard to portside of the vessel, creating, by Fajra’s estimation, the single largest room she has ever been in. Normally, the place would be stuffed – Mon Cala cruisers of that size usually carried around ten full squadrons plus some auxiliary craft, but now only one squadron of X-wings sat lonely in the corner of the hangar, its fighters not even stuffed into special holding cells on the walls, and that only magnified the effect of utter emptiness.

Naturally, as only real objects to look at, fighters and a couple of figures that scurried around them, drew Fajra’s eye. And the second it happened she got a strange feeling of familiarity, that prompted her to move towards them. And as she approached, the brown outline just below the canopy became clear…

\- Toven?! – she exclaimed when a blond man ducked from under one of the fighters.

Taken by surprise, Ewok Leader jolted, hit his head on the fighter’s fuselage and jumped away with a pained howl.

\- Ah, blast! – he grumbled before turning to search for a source of his misery.

But all traces of pain or frustration vanished from his face almost immediately. He laughed, and moved forward with his arms wide open.

Fajra didn’t hesitate to jump in for the hug. Making sure that her old friend was fine was one of the first things she did after waking up at hospital several weeks ago, but she never got the chance to meet up with Toven before leaving for Mon Cala. Inability to properly say goodbye to a dear friend and a long-time comrade was one of the sings that weighed heavily on her, and that weight was now quickly dissipating.

\- My, my! If it’s not our fearless commander! I thought that they would still be stitching you up! - he said with a clap on her shoulder as they broke the hug.

\- Well, maybe if I still was a mere commander. Captains seem to regenerate faster.

\- Oh, my, - pilot looked at her new rank plaque respectfully, - But wait… That would mean… Are you in command of this ship?

\- That I am, - Fajra conceded, - And what are you doing here?

Toven scratched his head and sighed heavily.

\- Well, comm…captain, I suppose you must know by now that _Yereel_ went to scrap, right? It was quite literally in pieces, so Command decommissioned it and reassigned the entire crew. Ewoks got shipped here – we just arrived yesterday. Though with you in command it all seems kind of obvious…

Fajra nodded to herself. Transferring as much of her old crew with her as possible seemed a logical move for Command to make, especially with _Yereel_ no longer in service. And sentimentalities aside, Fajra knew Toven and his squadron to be some of the best pilots of the Republic, and was glad to have them flying for her again.

There was a polite cough behind her.

\- You and commander Zapash are already acquainted, I take it? – Nimtol asked, inserting himself into conversation.

\- You could say so. We’ve been serving together since before… khm, I mean…

\- It’s okay, captain, - Toven’s voice never lost a certain placid undertone, even when talking about things most people would left entirely untouched, - I was an agent of Alderaanian Royal Bank, helping to organize funding for the Rebellion when me and captain first met and had a pleasure of working with each other.

\- Oh, I am sorry, - kel’dor backed out, stricken with the same mixture of uneasiness and embarrassment that accompanied any mention of the martured world in front of its former inhabitants, - I didn’t realize…

\- As I said: it’s okay, - Toven slightly raised his hand in a calming gesture, - But anyway, you and captain must be busy enough without me barging into your schedule, so I’ll leave you to it.

He then turned back to Fajra.

\- I would hug you again, if now you weren’t even more of my superior officer than usual, but I am extremely glad for it to be so. Let’s catch up after you are done settling in with your new ship.

Fajra nodded, and after the salute exchange, headed to the exit from the hangar with Nimtol once again following at her side.

\- So, the last ship you commanded is now “literally in pieces”? – he asked as they have entered back into sanely sized space of the ship’s corridors, - That must have been some story.

\- Not quite as interesting as you would think, commander, - strict secrecy orders aside, Fajra had little desire to discuss the events of her most recent battle, so she decided to evade, - It was an encounter with a pirate group that went badly for us. Not exactly an Attack on Death Star level tale, believe me.

\- But surely, you must have preformed admirably there, or you wouldn’t be promoted right after…

\- I am not at liberty to discuss the details, commander, - Fajra was never good at evading things, - As a former Intelligence officer, I am sure you understand.

That quickly ended Nimtol’s inquiry and the two of them got back to the business of inspection. Which, Fajra had to admit, was going extremely well – the whole ship was in prime condition and she could almost feel it tugging on magnetic locks that kept it docked to the station, trying to rush away into the inky blackness of deep space.

They ended their tour right where they began and Fajra congratulated Nimtol. Obviously, all, commendations for the quality of work should have went to Mon Calamari shipwrights, but commander was clearly on top of things and in possession of information about every possible detail of the project and that, she knew, required a lot of effort and energy from supervising officer. Commander took the commendation graciously and as they both left the ship walked her to her temporal accommodations at the hub’s living area, while discussing a schedule for the next day.

\- Well, this is it, captain, - kel’dor said as they approached the necessary quarters, - your droid must be already inside. Specialist Davane – our chief engineer – promised to contact me tomorrow morning with the final say on the possibility of test flight. So, if everything goes well we will be able to begin with the procedure at around fourteen hundred SGT.

\- Glad to hear that. I look forward to working with you.

Nimtol saluted and was on his way, leaving Fajra alone with her thoughts once again.

The door slid away gently, allowing her into the small, typical room the likes of which by now felt more familiar to her than her childhood home would. Beexim was indeed there, sitting at the center of the room on her case. Having gone on standby while waiting, he activated the second she stepped in, and brought on the full barrage of his enthusiastic helpfulness on her.

\- Good evening, master Fajra! How did you find your ship? Did seeing it help you with…

\- Shush, Beexim, - Fajra felt a sudden wave of tiredness, albeit of a pleasant kind, wash over her, - It was good. Everything was good.

Droid took suggestion as an order and turned off his voice module entirely, but kept staring at her directly, as if still in conversation. Having figured that this was the best she was going to get without engaging in a prolonged explanation or outright powering her companion down, Fajra lied down on the bed and tried to relax a bit.

To say that getting to see the ship up close didn’t bring her clarity she desired would have been a major understatement. Instead, a whole lot of excitement was added to the maelstrom of confusion, doubt and eagerness that she felt rumbling inside. She didn’t appreciate the resulting feeling. Fajra sighed and closed her eyes. To fall asleep until the moment she has to get busy with the ship’s test flight seemed like the most appealing idea in the galaxy, but she knew that sleep wouldn’t come. Too many little rude nagging things all dancing inside her head and demanding attention.

She snarled, now angry at herself. She served both the Alliance and the Republic passionately, and got recognized for it. She dreamed of commanding a capital ship, and she got it. She wanted to help as many people as she could, and now a hero of the fleet promised that she would do just that… Everything was good. Better, perhaps, than ever before. Therefore, it was extremely unbefitting of the officer to wallow in self-doubt instead of celebrating success and planning for future victories. And if there was one thing Fajra feared enough to hate it, it was falling short of her status as an officer, not being able to live up to everything Republic represented.

Anger, however, wasn’t much better than pointless moping and Fajra knew that. She sat up and took a deep breath to get her thoughts in order. When all else failed, one option stood like a shining beacon of purpose and certainty: do some work. She picked up her personal datapad and pulled a list of files that Nimtol has transferred to her. Personnel data, technical documentation on the ship, supplies shipping orders, naming form… Fajra paused.

“Well, as good place to start as any”

\- Beexim, - she called out, - Give me a hand here: how would you go about naming a ship?

Droid who, she was sure, kept staring at her through this entire time, chirped excitedly, which could have been the sound of his voice module coming back online, or just one of those sounds he made that seemed to mirror his general outlook on life.

\- Well, that greatly depends on the type of ship in question, master Fajra, as well as a set of naming conventions you would like to adhere to. Sadly, as of now, New Republic still hasn’t established a cohesive set of rules on the matter, but you could always turn to rules of Galactic Republic or even your homeworld…

\- Galactic Republic was rotten to the core, - she interrupted, - and Antoa Prime is too small of a colony to have anything even resembling a fleet.

\- Then you can turn to some other cultural element of your people for inspiration. A great deal of Mon Calamari cruisers are named after legendary characters from Mon Cala lore and history, for example.

Fajra thought about it. Antoa Prime… Just thinking the name made her almost feel the thick smell of everpines, hear their moaning in the autumn wind and see the sunset paint the wall of giant trees in a brightest orange that she has ever seen. She left her home planet a long time ago, and hasn’t been back ever since, but not because there was nothing to go back to. She missed her family, she missed the life as she knew it when she was fifteen, she missed a great many things that were dear to her heart, but still, even after the war was over and the idea of simply taking a leave of absence stopped being so unsightly, she never came back. Home was a sweet, beckoning memory, sure, but she was always the kind of person who found promises more alluring than memories. And what could bear more promise than a dawn of new age over the galaxy?

Still, she was fond of her forest-covered homeworld. A scarcely populated planet even for a quiet corner of Mid Rim where it was located, it had little to offer to outsider except the wood from its forests. But what wood it was! Antoan everpine was renowned as the most luxurious and exquisite wood one could ever find. Rumored to posses healing properties that worked simply through touch, almost unaffected by time, rich in magnificent deep colors, pleasant texture and able to somehow produce forest smell for hundreds of years after being cut down, it was sought after by every moneybag in every galactic rim as the most elegant decoration material known, and the extremely limited supply only heated up the demand. Magnificent trees did not submit their wood easily – the task of locating and harvesting them without destroying the unique ecosystem that allowed their existence, to say nothing of complicated process that drew out the wood’s true magnificence, was an extremely arduous one. As a result, the entire planet produced no more than a few tons of the highly prized material a year, but this miniscule amount was enough reason for this otherwise economically insignificant world to have ever been settled. Barely two million people were living on its surface, mostly spread between small outposts that harvested wood, and one “big” city where it was processed and shipped off. The planet was rich, its people full of quiet dignity and life there calm.

Nothing that anyone Fajra knew would call “inspiring”.

But at least memories of a distant time and a distant world calmed down captain Kreol’s worries enough to let her fall asleep after a few more minutes of idle conversation with her loyal companion.

And sleep was something that she sorely needed.

***

Nimtol waited for number on a wall-mounted counter to turn green, and began to carefully remove breathing mask that was all but molded to his face. Species that breathed something other than oxygen were an extreme minority in galactic community and very few facilities bothered with creating special sealed rooms that could be filled with various gases to accommodate them. So he was determined to use every opportunity to feel truly comfortable before leaving this station on a warship which certainly couldn’t afford such a luxury.

Free of the apparatus, he took a deep breath, and considered removing his goggles as well, but decided that he doesn’t trust the room’s climate control that far. Instead he lowered himself into a sofa that constituted the room’s only piece of furniture and opened some files on his datapad.

He double-checked all three versions of schedule for tomorrow that depended on Pash’s final word on the test flight. Everything seemed to align, so he checked up on the message inbox, and, having it once again come up empty, scratched his head. Tomorrow was supposed to be a big day, and he felt like he was ought to be preparing, but everything that he could have even the slightest influence on was already done, checked and re-checked. In fact, he felt strangely calm. Nimtol had little to none engineering expertise, but considered himself to know a thing or two about people – as individuals and as groups, and both the mon calamari technical crew that upgraded ship’s systems and its own engineering core that was supposed to keep them running inspired nothing but confidence in him. In fact, he was sure that the vessel will perform magnificently in the test flights. The only thing that could potentially be of any real trouble, was the person in whose command this vessel now was.

Captain Kreol made a pleasant impression on him, but impressions were of the world that Nimtol studied and manipulated for most of his life – more than enough time to learn to never trust them. It was hard to deny the energy that woman possessed – a spark in the eyes and a spring in the step, topped off by an earnest demeanor, all made her seem like someone he would gladly work with – but such energy could lead a person in many directions, and when someone has over five thousand people under their command, directions they could go in become very, very important.

He opened the list of personnel files and typed captain’s name in. File came up as ordered, and Nimtol, led by both practicality and insatiable curiosity – things that governed more of his life than he would care to admit, dug in. Captain having an impressive service record was completely unsurprising: file stated that she was twenty-eight standard years old, and to make naval captain by such a young age in an army full of ambitious upstarts was an impressive feat that could hardly be accomplished by a person of average skill and talent. But then again, most officers of that age were only on the active duty for six-seven years top, while Fajra Kreol boasted an impressive twelve years of service. Her early enlistment was not completely unique, but it wasn’t exactly common either, so Nimtol started looking for more details. And after several minutes of snooping around he found himself reading the file like an adventure book – just to see what would happen next.

One part in particular aroused his interest. As far as Nimtol could gather from the conversation in hangar, captain and alderaanian pilot have served together before, on a ship that was irreversibly damaged in a battle that likely got the captain promoted to her current position. He looked for this event at the end of captain’s service history, but, as expected, found the data there locked under a mid-level secrecy seal. His new naval codes, however, did not get him through, nor did those of his old Intelligence ones that he knew to still be active. That seemed strange – in his previous position he routinely worked with documents that had much higher declared secrecy level than this file. Mystery was about and anything that even resembled one within a star system of him, Nimtol saw as a personal challenge. It took quite some time, and most of his arsenal of data manipulation tricks, but eventually he got past the seal, only to find the file behind it irreversibly corrupted.

That stung. Data degeneration on local copies was something that happened to sloppy operators, and Nimtol disliked falling into that category. And it meant that now he had no dignified way out of this except to get to the event description through pilot’s file, which also contained a sealed section right before his transfer here. The second time around the work went much faster because the seal was almost identical to the previous one. And yet, it only served to increase his frustration when the file he got turned out to be corrupted in exactly same way.

That was something that never happened to him before. Two random corruptions in a row were extremely unlikely and he couldn’t have caused it with his way of accessing them, of that Nimtol was sure. What he was doing wasn’t even proper slicing – he just exploited many minor loopholes in the system that he learned over the years to get a look at the file from a different “angle”. And so, slowly but steadily his thoughts begun to turn in a different direction. He pulled the service records of the other pilots of the Ewok Squadron and, having once again chuckled at the name, began to try and access the same part of their records. By the time he got his fifth corrupted file, commander grew to have a bad feeling about the whole thing.

He stood up and paced the room, trying to decide on what to do. He looked at the time - datapad showed that he only had about four hours of sleep left before having to begin the next day. He swore under his breath, cracked his fingers and sat back on the sofa.

There was work to be done.

***

_Girl fiddled with binoculars, trying to get a better look at a triangular shape that blocked out a huge chunk of the night sky, but clearly had no idea how to accomplish that. She tried different combinations of buttons one by one, excitedly lifting the device to take a peek after each try, only to see that she has somehow managed to make it worse. It was a fruitless struggle, and after a few minutes it begun to show on the child’s face in form of poorly held back tears. Had the binoculars been equipped with any form of self-aware processor, they would be right to begin worrying for their safety._

_\- Found her! – a voice came from somewhere below, - She is on the roof again!_

_Another one, completely muffled, answered._

_\- I don’t know! – the first one responded, - I’ll ask her!_

_There was movement below and a tall man came out on the lawn in front of the house._

_\- Fajra! – he called, - Do you have mom’s binoculars?_

_Girl, her arm already halfway through the swinging motion that would have sent the device flying off to its demise, paused. Then, she carefully approached the roof’s corner and waved the binoculars over her head._

_\- Great, - the man below said, - wait for me, I want to come up too._

_Girl sat down again and dangled her feet over the edge of the roof. The house stood at the top of the hill, overlooking the distant city. A magnificent view at any time, tonight it was more so than ever – it seemed to pulsate with golden light, that spilled beyond its borders and covered the surrounding forests in a warm glow._

_\- Wow, - a huge head, topped off with a mane of black curling hair showed up from the hatch that led on the roof, - You sure know how to pick them, kiddo._

_He climbed out onto the roof completely and sat near her._

_\- I never thought that they would top that festival from five years ago, but I’ll be damned if… Hmm? – man turned his head when girl begun insistently tugging on the sleeve of his shirt, - What’s the matter?_

_Girl pointed to the huge angular ship that hung high above the city._

_\- Ah, the moff’s ship… It’s very big, isn’t it? You already saw it a couple of times - you just don’t remember. Such ships are called Star Destroyers. A bit pretentious if you ask me – I highly doubt that it can destroy a star…_

_\- Is star bigger? – girl asked with an audible concern in her voice._

_\- A bit bigger, yes._

_Girl’s eyes opened even wider than they were._

_\- Stargazing, are we? – a soft voice came to them from behind._

_\- Nah, - man stretched out his arm to hug woman that sat down near him, - We are debating who would win in a fight between a star and a Star Destroyer._

_Woman chuckled._

_\- Well, obviously a Star Destroyer should. Otherwise it’s just false advertising._

_They sat there for a long time, huddled together and drinking in the magnificent night. Woman reached and took the binoculars from girl’s hands._

_\- So, what did you want to look at? - she asked while easily tuning them up._

_Without hesitation, girl pointed at the ship._

_\- Really? – woman asked with amusement, - I thought you wanted to see the festival. Well, let’s see what the moff is up to, then._

_She handed binoculars back to the girl, and carefully placed her hands in proper positions to hold them._

_And girl pointed it up – to the ship, the night sky, the stars…_

Fajra tried to hold on as best she could, but the dream slipped from her grasp, as if something was insistently pulling her back. She opened her eyes – back in the small staff room, aboard a space station over the world of water and spaceships. Her mind felt clear as if she woke up after a good night’s sleep, so her first instinct was to sit up and begin usual morning preparation. Only after completing that motion did she get a glance at her datapad to see that it was the middle of the night – or, at least, the middle of what was commonly considered to be the rest hours in a standardized galactic space cycle. She sat on the bed, and stretched her arms a little. Such lapses in sleeping schedule were nothing new to her: despite the best efforts of medical professionals everywhere in giving out advice to frequent space travelers on how to adjust to constant time changes, it was still impossible to maintain a coherent bio clock when hopping near-constantly between worlds that often had in common only their classification as planets.

Her head felt clear and the body energetically light – there was no way she could go back to sleep like this, even if she wanted to. Instead she stood up, got dressed and, having dissuaded Beexim from following her, went out of her room. She spent some time in the hub’s cafeteria, having what she decided was an early breakfast, and watching different people go about their business. A great deal of mon-calamari workers were coming from the construction area, which led her to believe that the final touches were already put on her ship. She stood up then, and made her way to where the workers were coming from, led on by some inexplicable beckoning. By the time she reached it, the entrance to the construction area was already locked. She idly decided to try her captain’s access codes on the entrance, and was pleasantly surprised when they did, in fact, grant her entrance.

In there, Fajra located the room where those who worked in open space construction suited up, and rummaged through spacesuits in hope to locate one fit for a human. However, the only one she was able to find seemed to be meant for a person almost twice her size. She managed to bypass this problem by combining its helmet with a rest of a regular mon calamari suit. The resulting attire was rather baggy and not exactly comfortable, but the small internal computer reported it to be functional. She put the thing on, and headed towards the airlock through which workers must have accessed the construction area. And after a few minutes of following the safety instructions that were helpfully inscribed on the wall, she hit the button that opened the final door that separated her from open space. The air that rushed out tugged on her slightly, and she allowed that motion to carry her outside. And there, right below her – or what used to be below a moment ago - it was. More than a kilometer of shining white surface, on which so much of her hopes and doubts seemed to converge.

She fiddled with controls of the suit’s propulsion system and launched herself slowly towards the vessel. As she got close enough and the surface turned into a landscape of rolling white hills, she engaged the magnetic locks on her weirdly shaped boots and gently latched onto it. It took some time to figure out where exactly on the ship’s hull she landed, and once she did she immediately headed towards the stern.

Walking in zero gravity, held on the ground only by ill-fitting magnetic boots was a strange experience, but once she got used to it, it became even somewhat meditative. She made her way between some of the weapon emplacements, climbed onto the ridge formed by the ship’s spine, and kept walking towards the height of the command superstructure. Step, latch, step… Walking like that, doing something – anything – always was the best way to put her mind at ease.

_It became a treasured tradition in the years after. Coming up on the roof as a family, watching things distant and beautiful. Father always chose the city. He loved picking out people from the crowd and playing games of guessing about them. Mother always chose the forest. She would point out and explain things and sounds one could find in these ancient woods only in the night. And later, when brother joined them, he would try and locate little animals scurrying around the house under cover of darkness. But girl - year after year she chose the stars. She would look at the ships coming and leaving spaceport, follow the things in orbit with her eyes trying to make out what exactly they were… And she would dream about things out there._

Her final climb was almost over when Fajra found transparisteel under her feet. Carefully, she bent down and looked through it. No direct light was coming in, so it was hard to see what was behind the transparent barrier, but at the same time, the shapes that she could make out where unmistakable to her. She spent some time trying to fish out as many details of the ship’s bridge as possible – it was one of the few places she didn’t get to see during the inspection earlier – but eventually gave up, having reminded herself that she will see everything in due time. She continued her climb, and a few minutes later was finally at the top of the ship. She sat down there, slightly pulled by the residual gravity from inside the vessel and looked around. Her white leviathan, docked to the spire of the construction hub, other parts of orbital shipyards floating in the distance, ships of all sizes making their way between them… Carefully, she lied on her back, and looked at the stars, just like she did for as long as she could remember.

She left her home planet at the age of fifteen – not because she disliked her quiet world, but because the horizon beckoned so sweetly. She became a daring rebel later – not because she or those close to her suffered under imperial rule, but because the promise of the new beginning, new galaxy, New Republic all but enchanted her. She fought a losing battle for almost ten years – because what lay on the other side of it promised to be worth any risk. With her comrades in arms she overcame perhaps the greatest, most hopeless strife the galaxy has ever seen… And now here she was. New Republic struggled to restore order among the worlds that came to hate the idea of central government. Senate stumbled in the darkness, afraid of drastic action that would be too reminiscent of Empire, afraid of indecisiveness that would be too reminiscent of the old Galactic Republic, afraid of the absence of the Jedi Knights and afraid of the perspective of their return. Forces of corruption – criminal syndicates, ancient slaver empires, endless bands of pirates, once crushed by the imperial war machine, now felt the solar winds change, and begun to spread their influence once more… Having broken down the walls of imperial tyranny, yesterday’s rebels found behind them not the promised new dawn, but the murky twilight of infinitely complex galaxy.

Yet Fajra never lost her spirit. She was an officer of the New Republic, in command of brave people and swift warships, armed with experience and determination. There must have been a solution to what plagued the galaxy, and whatever fighting needed to be done as a part of it – she was ready for it. But after everything that happened over the last month, she felt shaken. She was called to a new duty, called to open her eyes to more of the chaos around, to face just how fragile the Republic’s position truly was… She was a dreamer, but she wasn’t naïve. She couldn’t ignore any injustice that she saw, but she wasn’t sure just on how much problems can one person take before they lose sight of what is important.

These dire thoughts all rushed back to her, and she sighed. Brooding on it was pointless, but she couldn’t just order these thoughts to disperse. She wanted to close her eyes and escape all this confusion for at least a short moment… But she was never the “eyes shut” kind of person.

So, there she lied on the gigantic white ship.

And gazed at the stars.

It is hard to tell just how much time has passed before she sat up again, but if there was to be an extraordinary observer, put near her through some magical coincidence, perhaps they’d be able to notice a slight change in captain Kreol’s face.

Gently, she stroked the metallic hull of the ship.

\- You and I, girl, - she said, her words echoing inside the helmet, - are going to do great things together.

***

Two weeks later, a mon calamari cruiser, reminiscent of classic Liberty-type, yet full of unusually narrow and sharp features, was streaking through hyperspace towards its intended point of cosmos. The ship’s crew was a mixed bag, including both veterans and novices of all species, most of whom had worked together only for a very short time. But what they lacked in cohesion, they made up for with eagerness. At the ship’s bridge work was boiling –hyperdrive readings watchfully observed, jump coordinates double checked, data on the system of planned entry analyzed. The crew was supervised by a tall kel’dor who paced the bridge from the entrance to the captain’s chair, watching the crew work, requesting updates and giving out minor orders. As the entrance door slid open, he straightened up and declared loudly:

\- Attention! Captain on deck!

To the sound of a dozen people snapping to attention, a human that entered the bridge nodded to him. A young dark-skinned woman of an average height, she moved with a great sense of purpose, and managed to project equal degrees of primness and energy. Her slightly curly black hair were gathered in the tight bun on the back of her head, which was topped off by the tightly fitting officer’s cap. Her brown eyes scanned the bridge, jumping from detail to detail with both criticism and excitement. She walked towards the captain’s chair, and the kel’dor followed in her stead.

\- We are about to drop out of hyperspace, – he reported, - preliminary scans show nothing out of the ordinary.

\- Still, it is a poorly charted territory, - woman replied after a short consideration, - Raise shields, and prepare a full system scan upon emergence.

\- Yes, captain.

Shortly after he moved to relay the orders, a message initiating countdown to the end of hyperspace jump emerged on the bridge’s main console. Everyone begun moving just a tad more excitedly – and ten seconds later, the blue maelstrom of the hyperspace resolved itself into the regular dotted field of stars.

The cruiser switched to the sublight engines, and moved in towards the heart of the system, while thoroughly scanning its surroundings.

\- Fighters – X-wings - are approaching, – navigation crew reported almost immediately.

\- And they are hailing us, - communications pitched in.

\- Patch me through, - captain responded.

There was a few moments of static scramble before the comm came alive with a restrained tone of a professional soldier.

\- Incoming vessel, this is Orange Leader. We are reading your ID as Republic Navy, please confirm.

\- Orange Leader, this is captain Fajra Kreol, in command of MC80 _Stargazer_. I am transmitting our security codes now.

There was a short pause while two computers exchanged information over thousands of kilometers.

\- ID confirmed, - voice came in again, this time much less formally, - Welcome to the 47th Fleet, captain. It’s great to have you with us.


	3. Knights of the New Republic

\- Captain, navigation is reporting another ship in the system.

\- That must be our new comrades, - Fajra pulled up the same old file that contained her first set of orders as a captain, - VSD _Saving Grace_ , under command of rear admiral Ora’An. Huh. Really? What’s an admiral doing with a Victory-class?

\- Ora’An? – Nimtol echoed right back to her, - That name sounds familiar…

\- Well, anyway, now comes the boring part, - Fajra said and rotated in her chair to face commander, - We come by and say hi to _Grace_ , then a convoy bearing the rest of our starfighter compliment and some supplies is supposed to be here shortly. We pick them up and escort them to the fleet’s base of operations at the Oreol system. There we meet our new brass who, no doubt, assigns us to some planet where we then sit on the garrison duty for the next one thousand years. Sounds exciting, eh?

Nimtol, however, didn’t answer, seemingly preoccupied with something else. Fajra was sure that there had to be some way kel’dor communicated emotions with their faces, it’s just so far it was a complete mystery to her. As far as she knew, her XO could be lost in thought, petrified with terror or just asleep – who knows.

Having decided that, since what she said was clearly rhetorical, commander’s silence did not merit any kind of reprimand in his address, Fajra turned her attention back to the console and approved the course that navigators laid through the system. As _Stargazer_ made its way towards the other republic ship, she kept studying the available information on the system and their mission there.

Freighter convoy was scheduled to arrive in two to four hours, entering the coreward edge of the system, whereupon it would transfer from the protection of its own escort into the care of the 47th fleet, represented here by her ship and the small Star Destroyer under rear admiral’s command…

\- Wait a second, - she murmured to herself, while fiddling with the file, - it is not even a Victory-class? Oh great galaxies, is that a Venator? Why do we even still have these…

As if suddenly switched on by these words, Nimtol snapped his fingers.

\- Of course! – he said with an audible excitement in his voice, - How could I have forgotten…!

\- Forgotten what? – over the, admittedly, short period of time that she knew him, Fajra have gathered commander Sur, despite his loose interpretation of military protocol, to be quite a restrained person, so any display of emotion on his part seemed a curiosity.

\- Well, you see… - he begun explaining, when an urgent message from communications officer interrupted him.

\- Captain, - they called out, - we are being hailed by the republic ship!

Fajra raised her hand, signaling Nimtol to pause and took the call.

\- Greetings, captain Kreol, - the speaker’s voice, even carried over a distance that no living being could walk in a lifetime, sounded silky and… soothing, - I am pleased to make your acquaintance. Let me be first to welcome you into the 47th Fleet.

Despite such pleasant greeting, Fajra missed a beat, completely thrown off the curve by what she saw.

A holo projected right before her contained a lean, anthropomorphic figure in a crisp navy uniform, over which something resembling a toga was draped. The rear admiral’s rank insignia on the chest proved that it was indeed Ora’An, but that seemed impossible, since the figure’s head was decidedly one of a droid. It looked very organic and alien – dozens of elegant moving parts formed something resembling a face out of simple geometrical shapes, but it was still a mechanical construct.

\- And it’s an honor to meet you, admiral, - as always, where conscious response failed Fajra, instincts and training came to her aid, - I trust that there was no major changes in the convoy’s schedule?

\- No, so far they have been checking in at the due times. I suggest that you move your cruiser into the position for a jump towards our next destination. I’ve recently received a message from the admiral that tightened our schedule quite a bit, so we would do well to not waste any time here.

The creature’s speech was something weird to observe: unlike most droids that had a static faceplate, this one’s face actually moved when it spoke, but only the loosest of correlation could be traced between this process and the movement of the mouth of the most organics, seeing as the shapes that formed its head only approximated a form of a face, not having any visible eyes, nose or even a mouth. And its voice…

\- I’ll be sure to do so, admiral. Kreol out.

Ora’An nodded, and, having made an expression, which, Fajra was somehow sure to have been a smile, cut the transmission off.

She rotated slowly in her chair to face Nimtol again.

\- Let me guess, commander. Earlier there you were wondering how could you have forgotten that there is a droid serving as an admiral in republic navy?

\- Actually, I’ve got a better one for you: rear admiral is not a droid.

\- You mean to say that’s all cybernetics?

\- Not at all. This species is called “maasir”, and they are mechanical beings, yes, but with a completely free will, and, presumably even their own civilization somewhere in the unknown regions.

Fajra raised a brow. The galaxy was unimaginably vast – everybody knew that. Even inside galactic territories that were considered to be thoroughly explored, there was still enough space for entire star kingdoms to be lost in, to say nothing of the dreaded Uknown Regions which served as a source of the wildest tall tales for many generations of space travelers. Who could say what weird lifeforms may have come to be in this grand expanse? Just like most people of the galaxy, throughout her life Fajra adopted the answer “pretty much any”, but the line had to be drawn somewhere.

\- Surely, a species of mechanical beings can’t exist by itself – someone must have built them first.

\- Well, probably, but while attempts to study maasir have been made for almost a thousand years - no one knows how they came to be! Isn’t it fascinating? They rarely venture into known galactic territories, so very little is known about them in general. But apparently, one served as a high-ranking republic officer during the Clone Wars, and later not only joined the Rebellion, but also managed to provide several old republic ships to the cause.

\- Sounds impressive. You think that was Ora’An?

\- Seems likely. If historic records on them are anything to go by, these maasir tend to stir things up wherever they go, so it seems unlikely that there would be another maasir officer in our navy that I haven’t heard about.

\- You seem to know quite a lot about these guys. Did your old Intelligence department have something to do with rare species?

\- No, captain, nothing like that. I’ve just picked up a lot of such trivia back at the university…

\- Really? – Fajra, threw a glance over her XO once again, - You’ve attended university?

\- Well, yes, - Nimtol seemed to straighten up even more than usual, adding some to his already considerable height, - Coruscant Imperial Academy, in fact.

Fajra felt a need to chuckle. That line was clearly supposed to impress her, but she had no idea what was so special about that place.

“Plus, it has the word “imperial” in the name, so it can’t be all that good”

As great as desire to tease commander about it was, her attention as a captain was better spent elsewhere, Fajra reminded herself, and instead ended the chitchat by sending Nimtol out with an errand.

_Stargazer_ was making its way towards the position specified by the admiral. Commanding a ship of this size was a new experience for Fajra. Everything, down to the very movement felt unusual, except, maybe for the speed. Mon Cala ships were considered to be some of the fastest in the galaxy, and with _Stargazer_ ’s modified thrusters she could barely tell the difference between it and a Nebulon-B frigate. The cruiser’s gigantic mass, however, made it way more difficult to maneuver, but between Fajra’s great intuitive sense for it and considerable skill of the helm and navigation officers it felt manageable enough.

In fact, Fajra was very impressed with her crew. In her opinion, one of the most magnificent things about Alliance was that it comprised of regular people – factory workers, teachers, doctors, clerks – civillians who one day stood up to fight the Empire. Impressive as that was, it meant that when the war ended and disarmament act came through, most of those people went home, to the lives they have abandoned to join the cause. It created an additional problem for already severely crippled navy: a tremendous lack of trained personnel. Those who stayed with the Fleet were first and foremost career officers, thus creating a sorry sight – an army of commanders with barely anyone to command. And while higher-ups channeled a lot of effort towards solving this problem, it was still quite widely felt – which is why Fajra was surprised to discover just how many experienced specialists came under her command.

“Still, there is quite a gap between a bunch of competent people and an effective crew. Not an uncrossable gap, but a gap nonethelss”, she though as she watched her subordinates buzz around the bridge.

\- Captain, we are approaching our position.

\- We go on standby then. Convoy should be here any moment now, so monitor the entry point.

Waiting was never Fajra’s favorite part of anything, but after years of service, she learned to tolerate it. This time around she amused herself by probing her XO with question’s about key members of the crew – like the ship’s chief engineer, whom kel’dor mentioned frequently with a great deal of respect, but she still didn’t get to meet. She caught herself thinking, that having an executive officer – something that she never did when in command of frigate and corvette type vessels in the past – was actually quite fun.

“It’s like having a personal attendant or an adjutant – except actually useful“.

A ping on her console alerted her to some kind of occurrence in the system right before navigation called out the arrival of the convoy. Five bulky freighters were accompanied – surprisingly – by a humongous Star Destroyer. Imperial-class. Seeing familiar wedge shape made Fajra flinch for a second, but scans solidly identified it as _Peacekeeper_ – a republic ship.

She watched idly as the lines that indicated some communication happening between rear admiral and the new arrivals scrolled through her console’s screen, while the freighters begun to fall into formation behind her ship. Their escort all the while, having sent out traditional cordial greetings, started maneuvering to jump back on its original vector.

\- Captain, freighters are in position.

\- Calculate the jump and feed coordinates to them, then standby for orders.

Having glanced at her comm in expectation of admiral’s order to initiate jump, Fajra returned to observing ships in the distance, when suddenly felt as if something had stung her. She blinked a couple of times and squinted, before finally giving an order:

\- Give me a visual on _Peacekeeper_!

And when an enhanced picture of the leaving ISD showed up on console screen, she felt as if whatever stung her was poisonous.

Star Destroyer has clearly underwent repairs recently, seeing as one of its main thrusters was not a native part of construction – evidently a hasty replacement of a kind that Republic always had to make when working with such expensive ships.

Yet it was exactly the central thruster.

Memories recent and unpleasant flooded her mind momentarily, causing her to tighten her grip on the arms of her captain’s chair, while battlefield instincts rose up in the back of her head, ready to take over.

\- Communications, open channel to _Peacekeeper_ , - as much the urge to act on this development swept up over Fajra, she still realized how all of that was most likely a pure coincidence.

Crew reacted, and soon, a holographic figure of an ageing republic officer stood right where admiral’s image was projected before.

\- This is captain Ferin of _Peacekeeper_ speaking. How may I be of service, captain…?

\- Kreol. And I’ll need you to confirm your security codes very quickly. You see, admiral has instituted a secondary safety protocol for this mission and…

\- I was not informed of such a thing, - man frowned, - What are you up to, captain?

\- Just following my orders, sir – Fajra shrugged as dispassionately as she could, - I hate this red tape too, so let’s try to get through it as fast as possible.

Man sighed, and with a look of annoyed resignation on his face gestured to someone beyond the holoprojector’s field.

\- We are transmitting, captain. So please, be done with it and let me go home. It’s been a long tour for me and my people.

While her officers were receiving and verifying the codes, Fajra quickly accessed info digest on _Peacekeeper_ and its crew on her personal console, and glanced through it, confirming the name and appearance of its captain. The codes came through legit as well, but something inside her rattled uneasily drawing her attention to the rear of the ISD, as if she was again looking at it from the bridge of _Yereel_ …

Something was off.

Action needed to be taken.

\- I am sorry, - she said pretending to be studying something intently on her console’s screen, - there seems to be a problem…

\- Oh really? Of what kind? – man said with a little surprise in his voice.

\- Erm… Primary encrypting seems to be a little off.

\- Well, let me ask my operator about that, - captain’s holo turned around and said something off-camera.

Fajra tapped her fingers on her crossed arms. If her suspicions were true then her suspect was to think something had gone wrong and panic, but with each passing second she realized more and more that there was no suspect. She just rushed to conclusions again and…

\- My specialists say that everything works fine on our end. Are you sure that your ship’s computers are working properly?

She was busy coming up with at least somewhat dignified way out of this conversation, when a rough three-fingered hand grabbed her by the elbow.

\- Captain, - Nimtol’s whisper in her ear sounded more like a comm interference than real voice, - Their hyperdrive emission is rising. They are readying for emergency jump!

And just like that, everything snapped into place.

\- All ion canons, open fire on _Peacekeeper_! – she cried out, slamming on her console to cut off the transmission.

Her command echoed through the bridge, startling everyone more than prompting them to action. Time was running short.

\- Immediately! – she bellowed, summoning all the authority she could muster.

That worked, at least enough for gunnery officers to begin targeting, but she felt time window closing. If _Peacekeeper_ was trying to run away in a more conventional manner, they would have good ten minutes to try and disable it before it reached the safe jump point. But with emergency jump – a highly dangerous maneuver – it only needed less than a minute to do the simplest of calculations and prime the hyperdrive. And a good chunk of that time has already passed.

Eventually, _Stargazer_ ’s ion canons opened fire, sending a valley of blue energy bolts streaking towards the Star Destroyer. Fajra couldn’t believe her luck as she saw most of them splash over the ship’s hull – busy with preparations for its risky escape, _Peacekeeper_ had no time to raise shields.

“Just a little more!” – Fajra watched the ship soak up blue projectiles on the edge of her seat. Ion-based weapons were a notorious weakness of the ships that relied as heavily on their armor as Star Destroyers did.

“A few more and she will lose power!”

With a flicker of pseudomotion, _Peacekeeper_ vanished into hyperspace.

And after a few moments of thick silence, comm beeped insistently.

\- Well, captain Kreol, I assume you have an explanation for this? – rear admiral, whose surreal image was somehow no longer the strangest thing in Fajra’s day, asked.

***

It was not an easy conversation for captain Kreol - quite literally. Explaining why would one order to fire on a friendly ship during a routine transaction was hard enough all by itself, and the fact that in Fajra’s case most of the information concerning her previous meeting with what she by then was sure to have been the same Star Destroyer was highly secret, did not help situation at all. Luckily for her, however, lots of recordings clearly showed Star Destroyer to have begun readying for emergency jump way before Fajra ordered to fire on it. Another thing that worked in her favor was an extremely strange reaction that freighters had on the whole debacle – that is to say, none at all. Their crews responded to communications in a routine tone and gave all the proper authorization codes on demand, but seemed to completely ignore what had just happened and any questions about it.

Still, quite some time has passed before admiral ceased the questioning and told Fajra and her crew to power down their engines and stand by for orders.

\- So, that was an old friend of yours, I take it? – Nimtol seemed annoyingly unphased by the whole situation.

\- Yeah… You could say so, - Fajra had little desire to play spy games with her own crew, - I think I encountered this very same ship in the operation that was put under some heavy secrecy by the brass, so I can’t really tell anything more than that.

Kel’dor made a humming sound that she had no idea how to interpret.

\- And I must thank you for your quick thinking, commander – your tip about the emergency jump was very timely.

\- It was a simple matter of observation, captain. You on the other hand, took very swift and decisive action the very second you perceived a threat. In my experience, that is a commendable trait in a military leader.

\- Why, thank you. I’ll try to not disappoint you in the future, - she replied absentmindedly, turning her eyes back to the viewport.

Admiral’s ship seemed to have launched dozens of fighters and shuttles that were all headed towards the freighters to conduct investigation. Fajra watched them intently, waiting for something to happen, though she had no idea what. Seeing someone else do her job was one of her least favorite things in the universe, but she understood perfectly well how delicate the situation was and sat down tight.

And as the best case scenario goes when it comes to patience – it didn’t take long for it to be rewarded.

All the craft from _Saving Grace_ suddenly pulled out, heading not so much towards their mothership as much as away from the freighters.

\- It seems I owe you an apology, captain, - Ora’An contacted her almost immediately after, - Your actions may just have saved a lot of lives.

\- Thank you, admiral. What is wrong with the freighters?

\- They are crewed by droids and loaded to the brim with explosives, - rear admiral replied as if it was a completely trivial occurrence.

Fajra couldn’t help but raise brows. Her life was never lacking in excitement and adventure, but the last month seemed to go a bit overboard with it.

\- What shall be our action then? Destroy the freighters?

Rear admiral appeared thoughtful for a moment.

\- No. They may contain clues as to who is behind this attempt. But as I said - we have a tight schedule to abide by. Admiral has called a meeting of the fleet’s senior officers, which means that both you and I need to be present.

\- Well, surely we can miss it, considering…

\- No. Admiral insisted that it is of critical importance. I shall… leave my people to handle this situation and come aboard your ship, captain. Prepare the jump towards the fleet base. Ora’An out.

Fajra saluted, though maybe not as briskly as she usually did. She has been an officer of 47th Fleet on active duty for less than 24 hours, but could already tell that this would be… an unusual assignment. And being who she was, such perspective intrigued her far more than worried.

It didn’t take long for rear admiral to arrive. Fajra felt a strange mixture of fascination and suspicion concerning Ora’An’s strange nature, which probably explained the surge of energy she felt when admiral came on board. As per protocol, Fajra met a senior officer in the hangar, where she got a good look at her guest in the flesh. Up close Ora’An seemed even stranger than on holo. Under from the routine texture of the fleet officer’s uniform - and strange in its presence, but still fairly ordinary looking toga draped over it - an absolutely otherworldly being showed itself – it had a cold, steely appearance of a droid, yet was too sophisticated and organic-looking to be a simple mechanism. And something in the way admiral moved denied the very idea of thinking about them as a machine. Fajra always found it a bit weird that some droids were called “him” and others “her” while they were clearly nor men nor women. And yet, even despite the fact that admiral’s appearance possessed no traits that would identify them as a woman of any species that Fajra ever encountered, she felt that there was an inexplicable air of femininity to this strange creature.

\- Is everything prepared for the jump, captain? – Ora’An asked, coming straight to Fajra.

\- Yes, admiral.

\- Then let’s be on our way. This incident may have a huge impact on the admiral’s plan, and the sooner we inform him about it, the better.

That simple statement hooked deep into Fajra’s curiosity.

\- I am sorry, what do you mean? I wasn’t informed about any…

Ora’An stopped and threw a quick glance at her, followed by a smile. Fajra had no idea why she thought that those were these exact expressions, but somehow was sure of it.

\- Prepare the jump, captain – rear admiral said, and walked on, leaving Fajra to brew in the mixture of confusion and intrigue.

***

The fleet’s base of operation was a massive station that hung near the edge of the Oreol system in the company of some utility and defense platforms. Starbases like these were a product of the last days of the Civil War, built by the New Republic in an effort to provide adequate support to its rapidly growing fleets. Most of them were disarmed and sold to private companies shortly after the war’s end, but this one appeared to still be fully operational.

“And, boy, does it bring back memories…”

The station and the space around it drew her eye insistently - Fajra hadn’t seen such a gathering of warships for almost two years. Docked to the station were two Mon Cala cruisers – one Liberty-type, much like her own, and one bulkier MC80b model. An Imperial-class Star Destroyer stood by not too far away – still not having entirely processed events of the day, Fajra tensed for a second when she saw it, but the shape of its massive batteries gave it away as an Imperial II-class, which calmed her down somewhat. Smaller ships were harder to make out, but scanners reported at least a dozen more frigates, corvettes and light cruisers, to say nothing of the sheer amount of starfighters that must have been about. By the standards of demilitarized Republic that constituted a larger part of a fleet, and try as she might, Fajra couldn’t imagine a reason behind such congregation of forces.

_Stargazer_ approached the station in accordance with all protocols, and was quickly assigned a docking spot right next to the other Mon Cala cruisers. As the crew was busy finalizing the operation, Ora’An, who spent the entire flight silently lurking at the corner of the bridge, approached Fajra:

\- Come, captain. The senior officer meeting is soon to begin and it would be rude to make others wait for us.

\- Of course, - Fajra gestured Nimtol to continue without her, and hurried after rear admiral.

As soon as the docking was finished, they made their way onto the station, where Fajra dutifully followed her strange commander through the succession of corridors, towards the axis of the station, where all turbolift shafts ran.

\- You know, captain, if you have so many questions, you can just ask me, - Ora’An spoke to her while they were waiting for their lift to arrive.

Fajra had to chalk that one to the rear admiral’s perceptiveness – she was sure that she neither said nor did anything that even carried an intonation of a question since they have departed for the base, but did, in fact, have a ton of them.

\- Um, there is so much going on, I wouldn’t know where to begin… - she found herself embarrassingly fumbling through the topics she wanted to clarify, as they stepped into the lift capsule and the doors slid shut behind them,

\- It’s okay, - Ora’An’s tone took on almost motherly quality, - Here, let me help you: no, I have no more information than you concerning the convoy incident; no, I don’t think that it is connected with the admiral’s meeting; yes, I believe that fleet has been amassed here in preparation for a large-scale military operation; and no, I don’t consider questions about my species and my nature to be intrusive. Does this help in any way?

Fajra was a bit stunned for a second time that day – not something that happened to her often.

\- Yes, those were probably my top ones, but…

\- Great! I’d be glad to help you with the rest after the meeting… Oh, would you look at that, we are actually early.

The lift chirped and opened its doors, revealing a short but roomy corridor that unmistakably marked one of the military station’s command decks. Before Fajra could understand how exactly did rear admiral get that last piece of information, Ora’An pulled her by the elbow towards one of the doors at the corridor’s end.

As she opened it and stepped through, Fajra came into a small amphitheater – a classical arrangement for a war room, which indeed turned out to be empty, safe for a decidedly un-officer looking person, who was seemingly napping on one of the benches.

Ora’An stepped in right after Fajra and walked to the bench closest to the projector at the center of the amphitheater. Their entrance woke the sleeping person, who begun to move and stretch out lazily.

\- Ah, Ora. Are we beginning already? I’ve lost all track of time here… Where is everyone? – he asked, while barely containing a yawn.

The person was an ageing duros male, who looked like down on his luck smuggler more than anything else. He wore a long duster coat over a set of almost unpleasantly unremarkable clothes that have seen so much better days – around the time of foundation of the Old Republic, perhaps – and a huge hat, that made even a duros’ head look small by comparison. A person like that probably wouldn’t be even let into decent drinking establishments, to say nothing of the meeting of the senior fleet staff… Were it not, of course, for the rear admiral’s insignia gleaming on his chest.

It took Fajra a brief moment to put these two parts of the image before her together, and when she did, the table-turning epiphany struck immediately.

\- Oh my stars, - she said under her breath, - That can’t possibly… Sir, can I… Are you, by any chance, admiral Corgan Rask?

\- Oh, a fan, I see? – duros laughed, - Well yes, I am. Only it’s just rear admiral now – can’t all be full-blown big shots when there is barely any fleet left to command, now can we?

Fajra felt the third stun of the day approaching rapidly. To say that Corgan Rask was a true legend and a personal hero of hers would be like saying that some people in the galaxy have heard about Luke Skywalker – a massive understatement.

\- Great galaxies… - Fajra wrestled her emotions under control - if there ever was a time in her life when she wanted to make a good impression, it was now, - It’s such an honor to meet you, sir. Studying some of your operations literally saved my life more than once.

\- Ho-ho! – duros put his hand over her shoulders in the most unceremonious manner, - Will you mind having to repeat that later, when we’ll have a certain audience?

Fajra had no idea what that meant but nodded eagerly.

\- So you must be our newest captain, right? What’s your name, soldier?

\- Fajra Kreol, sir.

\- And what’s your command, captain Kreol?

\- MC80 _Stargazer_ , Liberty-type, sir. Fresh off Mon Cala shipyards.

\- Oh! A magnificent beast! – rear admiral let go of Fajra with a slap on the back, and turned to Ora’An - New cruiser, new faces on the deck, some big shot new operation… If it keeps like this, life around here may even get interesting again, eh?

\- It is not long until we find out, I am sure. To this note – others we’ll be here in a matter of moments, so it’s best we get seated.

Corgan’s flamboyance contrasted sharply with the air of stoic dignity that Ora’An exuded, making the entire scene seem like some kind of elaborate performance – and effect only deepened when, as if her words were a theatrical cue, doors slid open, allowing more people into the room.

Four of the newcomers were captains – some of whom Fajra has also heard enough about to make her feel unqualified to even attend this meeting. The final blow to her confidence, however, was suffered with appearance of the person who entered the room last. In a silvery-white mon calamari female Fajra recognized Ilona Tarvis – one of the greatest rebel commanders, to whom the very roots of the Alliance navy could be traced. And the fact that every arrival immediately took sincere interest in her, only made the situation worse.

\- It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, captain Kreol, - mon calamari veteran politely approached her after the wave of Fajra’s peers subdued a little, - I’ve been very impressed with your work.

\- I, you… You know about me?

\- Of course. I like to keep tabs on the promising officers of our navy, and you more than fit that bill. In fact, I’ve personally observed your charge at Jakku, and let me say that…

\- Hey, back off, Tarvis! - rear admiral Rask barged into conversation, with what Fajra would think to be, if she didn’t know any better, an expression of glee on his face, - The kid is in my camp. Captain, would you mind repeating how much you admire my exploits to the esteemed vice admiral here?

In a sense, Fajra was greatful that her throat has gone completely dry over the last minute, because it took the responsibility for having no idea what to say off her shoulders.

\- I see you’ve already met rear admiral Rask, - mon calamari said, completely unphased by the interruption, - Don’t worry, you’ll get used to him in time. And I’d love to talk with you some more after this meeting is over.

Fajra simply smiled and nodded, as both of the legends let go of her and took their places at the opposite sides of amphitheater. Realizing that she was now the only one left standing in the room, she too hurried to the closest seat. Even amidst the torrent of confusion that she was thrown into. Fajra couldn’t help but enjoy the moment. Not even because of her sudden dip into a society of legends, but simply because everything felt right. War room, her fellow officers, the sense of importance of the upcoming mission… She felt at home with that.

The door slid open again. Fajra turned in hope to finally see the admiral in command of this eclectic fleet, but that obviously wasn’t him. A young zygerrian woman, almost a girl in a naval uniform with an insignia of a lieutenant, entered, drawing eyes of everyone in the room to the door. Immediately, she straightened up and saluted sharply.

\- Esteemed officers, captain Yonka sends his apologies, but he won’t be able to attend the meeting due to health problems. He sent me to sit in for him and relay any important information.

That message caused a murmur to spread through the crowd, but Fajra didn’t quite catch the emotion behind it.

\- Well, that’s a pity, - a voice came from the corridor, to be followed with its source a moment later, - but, of course, captain’s health is very important to us. Take your place, Irisha, I’ve got some big news for you to take to him.

As the lieutenant hurried to her place, the person behind her became clearly visible.

“Well, at least it somewhat explains the loose interpretation of the idea of uniform around here” – Fajra thought as what felt like the last of her capability for surprise left her body in an exasperated sigh.

Admiral of the 47th Fleet was of the same species as Ora’An. More so - and Fajra was sure that this was not an error of inattentiveness on her part - his “face” was the exact copy of rear admiral’s. But that’s where similarities stopped between the two. The persistent aura of calm dignity and feminine grace that could be felt radiating from Ora’An even across the room, was completely absent in the admiral, who looked like the least dignified or graceful person Fajra has ever seen. His attire, if it could even be called that, consisted of dozens scraps of fabrics and armors of different peoples and eras. At a glance, Fajra was able to spot an old clone trooper’s breastplate and part of a shoulder armor, a short and ragged cape that may have been orange once upon a time, parts of Galactic Republic naval uniform and pieces of brightly colored armor of some mercenary company… Instinctively, she looked around to see if anyone else was having an urge to laugh, but found everyone to be most serious and attentive.

\- First things first, then, - admiral said as he entered the center of the amphitheater’s stage, - I believe everyone here already had the pleasure of meeting our newest member – captain Fajra Kreol.

There was a polite applause, befitting of the formal introduction.

\- Captain Kreol, it’s an honor to have you join us, - admiral went on, now turning to Fajra, - My name is Ark’An and I am in command of this fine fleet. You must have already introduced yourself to other senior staff, so let me elaborate on our structure. This fleet is divided in two flotillas: vice admiral Tarvis – my second in command – leads the first one, and rear admiral Rask – the second. Most of our officers and their ships operate under authority of one of them, except for the rotating roster of those who carry out escort and various support duties – they fall under command of rear admiral Ora’An. But due to the nature of the upcoming operation and the fact that capital ships are currently a scarce resource, you and your cruiser won’t be assigned to either of these units, and instead will operate as a part of our errant wing, supplementing the group that would require it most at the moment, much like captain Yonka does now.

For the second time at the mention of the name, there was a definite reaction, the nature of which Fajra couldn’t gauge. Admiral, meanwhile, fiddled with controls of the holoprojector at the center of the room.

\- And now to the business at hand, - he said without looking away from the projector’s console, - First, an emergency announcement: less than three hours ago a massive sabotage action was attempted against New Republic Navy by an unknown party. Details are still unclear, but it appears that someone intercepted our fleet’s supply convoy and turned its ships into branders that were supposed to detonate upon docking with this very station.

Fajra found it almost funny that this information caused less audible reaction from those gathered than a vague mention of some captain’s sickness did.

\- The attempt was foiled by captain Kreol’s quick thinking, but the enemy agents masquerading as conoy’s escort managed to escape. So far we know next to nothing about the purpose of this action, or even if any other republic targets were attacked. The only thing we know for sure is that perpetuators seemed to possess an incredibly detailed information about the convoy: its schedule, its escort and its security codes. This implies that a massive breach has occurred somewhere in our naval databases. The Intelligence has already launched an investigation, but in the mean time we have to install a secondary security policy for all communications. New codes and guidelines will soon be distributed to you, but it is your and your crew’s personal vigilance and awareness that I call upon now. Until we get an “all clear” from the Intelligence, you are to remain alert and subject any identification you receive to multiple additional checks. That being said… - admiral finally looked up from the console, just as a massive map of the galaxy was brought up, - The timing for this can hardly be worse, seeing as why I have called this meeting in the first place.

Admiral paused – almost as if for dramatic effect – and said the words Fajra never expected to hear again.

\- Senate ordered a fleet mobilization.

_That_ caused a very definite reaction – seasoned officers gasped loudly, held their breath or outright stood up.

Ark’An looked the room over, and, quite visibly pleased with the effect, begun to explain:

\- As you must know, after the archives of Imperial Fleet fell into the hands of New Republic at Kuat, we’ve been able to establish that during the reign of the Empire the total of thirteen Super Star Destroyers have been constructed. Yet, so far, only nine of them have been accounted for. However, during a recent emergency hearing Senate was presented with the evidence of several appearances of the tenth dreadnaught. After some debate it was decided, in a vote uncharacteristically close to unanimous, that unchecked operation of such a weapon presents a direct threat to the New Republic, and thus it must be located and neutralized. The 13th, 22nd and 47th Fleets were ordered to begin search and destroy operations.

The mix of shock, agitation and excitement in the room grew palpable.

\- Now, I want this to be clear: we are not going into battle. Not yet, at least. Our goal is to search and destroy, yes, but it is a very big “search”. According to data Intelligence has provided, these, - at the admiral’s gesture, several dots lit up on the map, spread across a huge chunk of Mid and Outer Rim territories, - are the sites of confirmed SSD sightings. All of them are in uninhabited systems away from major hyperlanes, so it is safe to presume that whichever faction has control over the ship does not want to flash it around. A ship of such size, however, requires a constant stream of supplies, many of which can only be produced on technologically advanced worlds. So in order to find the SSD we are going to start with the search grid based on the major unaligned Mid Rim worlds, and try to score some more information to go on…

Fajra listened to the admiral intently. She found that it was possible to say a lot about the person by the way they tackle issues in front of them, especially such unusual ones. And unusual it was. Not only did it appear to be a complete reversal of what Rebels did for most of the Civil War, but it also seemed to have been specifically designed to be a dubious undertaking for the times. The day Empire fell was also the last day of the galaxy as a cohesive, if rather grim place. Nowadays, instead, it was in the nigh-constant state of flux, with entire interstellar states appearing and vanishing in a matter of months, contacts with distant worlds lost or deliberately cut, and whispers in disreputable cantinas becoming an important channel of galactic communications…

“If there was ever a time for someone to have a chance of hiding away a star dreadnought, it certainly is now” – Fajra thought, as the admiral kept laying out details of his plan and assigning officers and ships to their duties.

Admiral’s line of thought wasn’t always easy to follow, but his plan appeared solid. After a few minutes of explanation, the only thing that truly bothered Fajra was that it seemed like pretty much everyone in the room already had their orders, except for her. And as admiral declared the meeting over and sent everyone to prepare their ships, she stood up to voice that concern.

\- Lieutenant Arai and captain Kreol, please stay, - admiral passed that as a routine commentary a second before she could open her mouth.

\- Yes, sir, - she responded, and waited for other officers to clear the room.

On their way out, other captains shook her hand and made other expressions of goodwill again. When passing her, Ilona Tarvis said some words of encouragement and Corgan Rask slapped her on the back and made some joke. Ora’An passed by silently, but once again Fajra was somehow left with the warm feeling of acknowledgement.

\- Come closer, you two, - admiral gestured beckoningly, - your opening play in this operation will be a special one.

As Fajra and the zygerrian girl approached, Ark’An once again switched the image of the projector, bringing up a more detailed look on the previously highlighted part of Mid Rim.

\- One of the main difficulties of this entire operation is that all of the SSD’s appearances so far have been outside of Republic’s borders. This means that we go hunting on territories where we have no official authority. Along with our orders Senate has issued a gigantic list of rules and restrictions on how we must interact with any planetary governments on whose territory we will have to trespass. New Republic channels a lot of effort into bringing the words of these regions into its fold and the Senate is scared of causing an incident there almost as much as of the unchecked SSD itself. And since the worlds that may be a part of a supply chain for a Super Star Destroyer are our main lead at this point, you can imagine how uncomfortable these restrictions are for us. Luckily, there is one particular case where I found a way to bypass them entirely.

With a press of a button, two bright dots lit up on the map.

\- This is the most recent confirmed sighting of our target in this region, - admiral pointed at one of them, - And would you look at that, it happens to be one short jump away of a world in possession of an impressive heavy industry…

Fajra felt the lieutenant flinch beside her as the map focused on a singular planet.

\- Zygerria… - the girl said, her voice strangely tense.

\- Exactly. There is plenty of other links in the data that suggest that this SSD may be partially supplied from there. But we won’t know for sure until we check. Zygerrians, however, wasted no time after the fall of the Empire and re-established their very isolationist government – which makes all kinds of intelligence gathering on their territory… problematic. Thankfully, I got us a way in.

Admiral stepped away from the projector and walked towards the rows of sitting benches. There he sat down and looked at the officers – his strange “face” was hard to read, but seeing his expression was hardly necessary for Fajra to recognize another dramatic pause.

\- New Republic is sending out a big diplomatic mission to Zygerria in two days, - he finally spoke, - and I was able to convince the senator in charge of it that a little show of strength is something zygerrians would actually respect. She agreed to accept two of our ships as an escort. I chose _Stargazer_ and _Justiciar_. Your task would be to conduct all formal escort duties for the senator, and at the same time use your access to the planet to find out whether or not our SSD is in any way connected to zygerrians. Any questions?

\- Um, sir, are you sure that our ship is the best for the role? Captain Yonka is still… - Irisha asked.

\- I have an utmost faith in captain’s ability to recover quickly, - Ark’An brushed the question away, - Plus, your personal knowledge of zygerrian culture may prove very beneficial. Anything else?

\- Sir, to which degree this senator is aware of our mission there? – Fajra stepped in, - And if not, under which circumstance are we allowed to reveal this information? I feel like her cooperation may be integral to our success…

\- Oh, she knows, believe me. I wouldn’t risk keeping such secrets from that woman. As to whether or not she will be of help to you… Well…

The image on the projector changed again, replacing the map with a portrait and supplementing dossier. Fajra gasped loudly and put hands over her mouth instinctively.

What an interesting day that was turning out to be.

***

\- … so, overall, the damage was minimal. We’ll be ready to jump in about an hour, - the young officer seemed very chipper, which only got Arvan down even more.

By rights he should have been excited as well – the emergency jump went unbelievably well, not only not launching them straight into a star, but even allowing them to emerge almost where they needed to, suffering only superficial damage. And for a second upon emergence from hyperspace he was indeed happy. It was only when the weight of the failed mission crept up on him, that he lost all traces of positive attitude.

\- Are our hypecomms operational? – he asked, hoping in the manner most unbefitting of the man of his age and experience, that the answer would be “no”.

\- Yes, sir, very much so.

He sighed heavily.

\- Continue with the repairs then. I must… report to the lord-admiral.

With that, he walked off the bridge and headed towards his personal quarters. The situation was unpleasant enough without him having to go through with _that_ in front of his crew.

When he finally was alone in his apartments at the very top of the Star Destroyer’s superstructure, for a moment he contemplated putting the report off for some time, but his rational side quickly won by suggesting that it will only make things worse. He did, however, pour himself a glass of whiskey and empty it, before finally approaching the comm and punching in the command.

\- Ah, captain Horst. I am eager to hear all about your operation, - both the appearance of lord-admiral’s holo and his voice rang with mockery right off the start.

\- I am sorry to report that it was a failure. Somehow, the ruse was discovered, and one of the republic ships opened fire on us. We barely managed to escape.

\- I see… You know, captain, after your last failure I thought that you maybe were at least competent enough to carry out a plan where no military prowess was required from you… But I was wrong, evidently.

That made Horst grind his teeth. Hard times required compromises, sure, but there was only so much that he, Arvan Horst, a venerated veteran of Imperial Navy, was going to take from that upstart.

\- Well, I did follow the plan to the letter, _sir_. So maybe the fault lies…

\- Be very careful about what you say next, captain, - even through the holo, Arvan could see the sudden blast of terrifying fire in lord-admiral’s eyes, - An honest mistake is something that I can forgive. Calling my authority into question, however… You don’t want to make your situation any more dire than it already is, believe me.

Arvan clenched his teeth as hard as he could and averted his eyes.

\- That’s better. Come to me as soon as you return – we will continue this conversation face to face.

Transmission ended, and Arvan swore loudly. Then he grabbed the glass again and poured another drink.


End file.
